


burn so bright

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 101,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crown Princess Emma just wants to spend some time living a normal life; Killian Jones doesn’t expect to meet a princess in a frat house.  Inspired by Pulp’s “Common People” and the lack of any modern AU Lieutenant Duckling fic of this nature</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Or, JD’s extensive knowledge of European monarchies finally yields positive results. Sidenote: Okay, so in this story Snow/Mary-Margaret is the hereditary monarch for her kingdom, and David is her prince-consort, like Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip.

 

“Isn’t this fun?”  Ruby shouts above the music.  The beer in her red cup splashes out and falls on Emma’s toes, but she doesn’t care.  The music is loud – so loud she feels it in her bones, moving her head and hips and arms and legs like they’re not even connected to her.  It possesses her soul and her heart and as she watches the lead singer of the band look at her again for the forty-millionth time, Emma nods her head.

This is way more fun than she ever anticipated.

From the stage, the lead singer of the band winks at her and Emma smiles even wider.

…

_“Do you really think that this is such a good idea, David?”  Queen Mary-Margaret pursed her lips and glanced over at her husband.  “Do you really think that she’ll be safe?”_

_“ **She** is right here and listening…” Emma says, crossing her arms across her chest and slumping down in the elegant brocade chair.   From behind her she can hear her bodyguard, Leroy, huff at her words; he was like a loyal puppy when it came to Emma’s mother, the Queen, of course he’d take her side._

_“Emma.”  Her mother scolded her in that soft tone of hers that made her such a popular ruler. “Queen of Our Hearts” was a common refrain in the kingdom, and Emma loved her mother dearly, but she had a cautious streak a mile wide and it was driving Emma crazy.  There was an entire world outside of their small kingdom and Emma itched to explore every inch of it and learn it for herself before she assumed the throne in her own name._

_“I don’t know, Mary-Margaret,” Prince David said from the window.  “Emma has done her due diligence - it’s a well-respected school.”  Her father winked at Emma. “Besides, it’s not like other royals haven’t gone abroad for school.”_

_“Crown princes and princesses, just like me,” Emma pointed out, sitting higher in her chair.  “Crown Prince Haakon of Norwary, Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden – “_

_Mary-Margaret waved her hand.  “Isolated examples, Emma.”_

_“Prince Harry went to Afghanistan.”_

_Her mother’s nostrils flared in response before her father stepped in and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder.  “Emma, don’t tease your mother.   You know that she worries about your safety.   But if Leroy was to go with you – “_

_Behind her Leroy huffed again, but when Mary-Margaret’s eyes turned towards him, his tone changed.  “Anything for you, your majesty.”_

_“I’m not happy with this,” her mother told her.  “Your roommate will have to be veted.”_

_“Understood.”  That was the least of Emma’s problems._

_“And I’ll send a younger security detail with you in addition to Leroy.”_

_“Of course.”  Maybe she’s send Lieutenant Humbert, he seemed to be fun and he always blushed when she asked him to help her with anything…_

_“And I will expect weekly reports on your well-being and if – “_

_“Mom, it’s okay.  It’s a big country – no one will recognize a princess from a tiny monarchy anyway.” Besides, Skype was the best – this would be easy.  And she planned to blend in as much as possible._

_Mary-Margaret smiled.  “Crown Princess.”_

_Emma shrugged.  “Semantics.”_

_“Your inheritance.”  Mary-Margaret reached her hand towards her daughter, and Emma stood and approached her mother, sitting at her feet like she did as a small girl and Queen Snow was the single most amazing person she ever knew (and still was, even now that she was eighteen)._

_“I know, and I won’t forget that.”  That much was true, not because it had been drilled into her brain every day for her entire life, but also because she wanted to make her mother and father proud._

_Her mother leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “I trust your judgment, my darling.  And when you are queen, you will ask the same of both yourself and your people.”_

_Emma smiled, excitement building in her belly, “So I can go?”  The idea – university abroad in a new country, with new people (new boys! that she didn’t know! and wasn’t possibly related to!) and a new way of life where she wasn’t Crown Princess Emma…the thought was almost too much._

_Her mother’s smile was more than enough confirmation._

_The roommate selection process was fairly easy: they settled on a brilliant young English major named Belle from the kingdom who was also going to study abroad; they found a dorm with an all-girls floor that allowed no men after 8pm and strict rules for admission and dismissal; and they organized everything so that Lieutenant Humbert would be the housed on another floor within easy reach of the Princess should something happen._

_Everything came together so well that Emma’s head spun, and soon it was time for her to say goodbye to her parents (there were tears shed by all, for Emma was an only child and even though the prince was stoic, she was wrapped around his finger at an early age).  But there was also the bright and brilliant hope of a new future, one where she could make decisions based on what she thought was right for her, not what others thought of her  as the future monarch._

_Belle was a sweet roommate, kind and intelligent, and she didn’t treat Emma like her future sovereign.  The other two girls who shared the suite – Ariel, a red-head from Florida, and Ruby, a brunette from Chicago – were friendly and best of all, they had no idea who Emma was._

_Emma liked Ruby – she was adventurous and fun, and she always knew where the best parties were and helped Emma get a fake ID fairly easily.  It was Ruby who convinced her to go to the college party tonight._

_“The best band on campus is playing – Count to Ten? Have you heard of them?”  When Emma shook her head, Ruby insisted._

_“We’ve got fakes, we’ve got plausibly deniability in that Belle said she’d cover for us – even that guy that you hang around with said he’ll be studying tonight.”_

_“Graham?” Emma asked, and when Ruby nodded her head, Emma said nothing to change her mind.  She did spend a lot of time with the Lieutenant because he was also enrolled in her major, and even if he did still blush when she talked to him, Ruby did not need to know that he was hanging out with her because her mother was his boss._

_“Look, it’s at Eric’s frat, Ariel will get us in –we’re free and clear.”_

_Emma nodded her head.  “Let’s do it.”_

…

“This is our last song,” the lead singer says, and Emma moans along with the crowd.  She could dance to this band forever, she never wants it to end.

They play for one more song and Ruby leaves, coming back with full cups of beer and a wide smile. 

“I’m glad you’re having fun!” she shouts above the music.  “You should go talk to him.”

“Talk to who?” Emma asks.

“The lead singer.  He hasn’t taken his eyes off you this entire time.”

The lead singer of the band _is_ super-hot – dark hair, blue eyes that shined despite the dimness of the frat house, scruffy beard. And Ruby’s totally right – he has been checking her out the entire night.  Emma assumes it’s the halter top that Ruby convinced her to wear, or maybe the short skirt and the platform sandals but whatever the case, he definitely has been looking at her and she’s been looking right back.

The thought that he might be into her sends a jolt through Emma’s body.  She doesn’t have much experience with guys –all the ones at court are interested in nothing more than sex and skiing, even Lord Neal (who she knows her mom wants her to marry but who is really into polo this year and Emma could really care less).  But there’s something raw and visceral about the lead singer, whose name she doesn’t know and who, even as he says goodnight to the crowd, keeps his eyes firmly on her.  He moves his head to the left – a gesture?  Does he want to talk to her?

“Oh god, he wants to talk to you,” Ruby exhales.  She opens her purse, digs around for a bit before placing foil packets in Emma’s hand.  “Be safe, and remember get your own drink.  And if anything is wrong, text me.  Otherwise, godspeed you lucky bitch.”

Ruby pushes her off as Emma shoves the condoms in her purse, thankful for all the years of decorum classes that have allowed her to walk in these ridiculously high heels.  She straightens her spine, gets a steady grip on her drink, and approaches him.

The lead singer smiles at her as he pulls at cords to disconnect his guitar from the amp.  “You’re quite a dancer, beautiful,” he tells her.  There is an accent to his voice, and it is incredibly hot.   Emma smiles.

“You’re quite the guitar player,” she responds, and he flashes a smile as he winks.

“Let me put this away, then I’m all yours,” he promises, leaving Emma to linger by the makeshift stage for a moment.  She takes a sip of her beer, wonders if this is a good idea before deciding that it is definitely a good idea.  She’s only slightly tispy, she’s got protection, and a security detail a phone call away if anything should go wrong.  Besides, he’s a lot hotter up close when she can see hot tight his t-shirt is, the way that it clings to his chest, the dark hair that peaks out above the shirt’s V-neck. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the guy, but whatever it is, Emma has honestly not wanted to make out with someone this bad in her entire life.  She downs the rest of her beer quickly.

When he finishes putting his guitar away, he returns and notices her empty cup.

“Let’s go get you a refill,” he suggests, guiding her towards the keg with his hand on her back.  Warmth radiates out from his touch, and Emma takes a deep breath.   He doesn’t ask questions when she fills her own cup, and he fills his own as well, and then they find a quiet corner (his request) so that they can talk.

They do the best they can over the bass beats and the loud noise of the crowd.  His name is Killian; he is a junior.  He is a geography major, and he isn’t from around these parts though he doesn’t say where he’s from.   She lies and says she’s a junior too, international studies major, and she doesn’t give up anything more than that because she doesn’t need to; they are close enough that she can feel his fringe brush against her forehead when they lean their heads close so that they can hear, close enough that their hips meet and with every movement of their bodies, and every sip of alcohol, she grows bolder and more sure of what she wants.

They refill their drinks and she’s got a solid buzz going, feeling good about herself and warm throughout her entire body every time she looks at him, and lord almighty, she wants him in any way she can have him.  Screw propriety, screw her heritage – right now the world is just the two of him, his eyes and his body and every single bit of him.

So she reaches for him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a kiss.  It starts off slowly – he is surprised – but he groans and opens his mouth, hand coming up to reach for her hair.  He threads his fingers through her curls, angles her head, and she deepens the kiss, tracing his lower lip with her tongue.

He breaks the kiss then, glancing up and around them, then back at her.  His blue eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blow wide, and she dips her eyes to press a soft kiss against his mouth.

“Upstairs?” he asks. 

Emma nods.  Most definitely.

…

He notices her almost immediately.  There are blondes in the room and then there is _her_ , curls flying as she dances to the music, hips shaking and moving, genuine happiness evident on her face, and Killian is so caught up in her that he almost forgets the lyrics to his own songs.

She is a wonder, and he wants to know her name.  Never before has he had such a need to talk to a girl before, but this girl is something else completely.

She makes eye contact with him, singing the refrain with everyone else and there’s something in her gaze that feels good, that feels like coming home.  He’s a poetic soul, his bandmates tease him for it, but he wonders if that familiarity in her eyes is something deeper than just a connection. 

What if he met his soul mate at a frat party?

Stranger things have happened, and in Killian’s life, he’s seen that.

This university is his second chance at life, after leaving his home when his brother died four years ago.  It meant a dishonorable discharge from military service and a new start in this foreign country, but he believes in hope and chance and all he can hope for right now is that that beautiful girl enjoying his songs will pay attention to him afterwards and give him a chance.

At the very least, he’d like to get her number.

(There’s a lot more he could hope for, but that’s just wishful thinking.)

She approaches him after they finish their set, and the first thing he can think is that she’s even more beautiful up close. 

What’s even more amazing is when she kisses him, so intently and so fiercely that he loses all grasp of reality.   Her tongue moves against his, soft little mews coming from her mouth, and it makes him harder than he’s ever been, the way that she leans into him, the way that her hair feels between his fingers.

He takes a deep breath and pulls back, and it feels like the hardest decision he’s ever made in his life.

Killian isn’t in this frat but his friend Eric is, and he hopes that Eric can forgive him for wanting twenty minutes of privacy to make out with a girl in his room.  It’s easy to ask Emma to go upstairs with him, and even though his intent is not to have sex with her (not in a borrowed bed, that is not enough for someone as beautiful as her) and it’s easy to kiss her once the door is closed, to feel how responsive she is as he trails his hands down her sides, moves around to grab her ass through that ridiculously short skirt.  She is ridiculously wanton, rubbing against his, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer, and Killian follows.  He tries to come up with a game plan – oral? Something else? – but then Emma stops kissing him, suddenly.

She puts a hand over her mouth in the universal sign for drinking too much alcohol.  

He opens the door to their left, and watches as she runs through it.  It is only when he sees her worshipping the porcelain goddess that he wonders if Emma is really as old as she said and, if not, what exactly she’s doing sneaking into a party like this.

He is polite, and rubs her back while she moans in dismay.  “Easy, princess,” he tells her, holding her hair back from her face as she vomits. 

“Not princess,” she says, wiping her mouth off before retching again.  “Cronncesss.”

“What?” Killian asks.  “I didn’t quite catch that, love.

Emma reaches up with a shaky hand to flush the toilet before wiping her mouth again.

“Crown Princess.  I’m the Crown Princess.”

Killian frowns, unsure of what is going on until it hits him – why she was so familiar, why he found her so appealing.  He grew up looking at her face, watching her family on the news.  He remembers how beautiful he thought she was – beautiful and sad, a princess trapped behind castle walls.  He remembers his first parade in the army, performing his duty as citizen to serve for two years, and how she smiled at him from her seat on the stand (and how his colleagues teased him for a week, star-struck and in awe, for thinking she was looking at him to begin with, one in a sea of many). 

It is his Crown Princess – or the Crown Princess of his former homeland, the one he left when Liam was killed.  

He is sitting in a frat bathroom an ocean away with a drunk princess who is looking up at him with those green eyes and he is just…

Killian takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.  This evening definitely took an interesting turn.


	2. two

Killian looks at Emma, who has tucked her knees into her chest and rests her chin on top of them.  She looks so young right now and he feels a tremendous sense of responsibility for her wellbeing.  Even if he doesn’t consider his place of birth his home (not anymore), and even if he doesn’t swear allegiance to the corrupt government that ended his brother’s life, he knows that the monarchs are just figure-heads, and Emma is innocent of any crime.  It would hardly be good form to not take care of her now.

(And that has nothing to do with how he felt moments earlier, when she first caught his eye in the crowd.)

“So what do we do with a drunken princess?” he asks quietly. “Do you have armed guards or something?” Killian tries to keep his tone light and ignorant, though he knows very well that guarding the royal family was a responsibility of the military, but only those who did exceptionally well advanced to that position.   

Emma shakes her head vigorously, curls falling on her shoulders. 

“We can’t tell them – they’ll just tell my parents,” Emma says.  There is fear in her eyes.  “My mom didn’t want me to come here.”

Killian remembers the gentle smile of the Queen, and he can only imagine having to part with her only daughter.  “Okay, we come up with another plan.   How are you feeling?”

“Better now that I…” Emma trails.  She blushes, turning pink all over (it’s impressive, really, how the blush spreads over her exposed limbs and Killian clears his throat and looks away).   “I’m sorry.  I am _so_ ridiculous right now.”

“If that counts as ridiculous, your highness, then I’m eager to see what else you get up to.” Killian winks at her, and she blushes more.  He can’t look at her without blushing himself, and so he stares at a chipped section of tile on the floor.   He takes a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts (she is a distraction, Emma is, and he would willingly allow himself to be distracted forever if she was in a better state).

He makes a decision.   “Here’s what we’ll do – let’s collect that brunette friend of yours, get some food into both of you, and I’ll make sure you get home.”

Emma frowns, brow furrowing.  “You don’t have to do that.  We can get home on our own.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Really? If your friend had as much to drink as you…”

Emma sighs, defeated.  “Fine.  But we’re stopping at Jimmy John’s.  And I’m paying.” 

There is no room for arguing with her tone, and so he teases, “You’re quick to give commands - and here I thought you were just a princess, not a queen.”  Emma’s lips quirk up in a smile, and Killian feels pleased with himself for her reaction.

He stands, extending a hand to help her up and she sighs again before she takes it.   As he pulls her towards him, the fingers of his other hand skim her hips and jolt of longing – of what he felt earlier – surges through him.   He reaches behind her, bodies brushing against each other, and grabs the mouthwash that Eric kept near the sink.

“Rinse your mouth out – it’ll make you feel better.  I’ll wait for you outside.”

She nods, gripping the bottle like it’s a lifeline, and he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.  Her purse is on the bed – she must have dropped it.  He sits down next to it, drops his head into his hands, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Killian’s hatred for the politics of his country collide with the innocence and beauty of the crown princess, whose body he was touching mere moments before and whose mouth he was desperately kissing before that, and _oh god._

He is about to take the crown princess out for a sandwich and escort her safely back to her dorm.  

How did he get here?  And, more specifically, what happens next?

Before he can figure it out, the door opens quietly and Emma slips out, turning the light off behind her.

“Thanks,” she says again, looking around for her purse.  Killian grabs it and stands, handing it to her.

“Of course, your highness.” 

Emma rolls her eyes.  “Ruby doesn’t know I’m royalty.  She thinks my security detail is just a guy who’s in my major.  So don’t call me ‘your highness’ in front of her, please.”

“Of course, your highness, wouldn’t dream of it,” Killian says with a wink and a nod.  Emma slings her purse strap over her shoulder and tilts her head, smiling at him. 

“Thanks – you’re being really cool about this.”  Emma pauses.  “Too cool, actually.”  He can see her gaze harden, turn from thoughtful to suspicious, and he doesn’t know what to do because he hasn’t thought that far beyond the feigned ignorance in the bathroom earlier.

If he tells her that he’s from her kingdom, there’s the chance she could find out about him before he can tell her himself (wishful thinking, Killian, that she might stick around that long).   If he doesn’t, and she finds out eventually, then she’ll be angry that he lied to her.  None of the options look good and so he scrambles as the silence stretches between them and all they can hear is the pounding bass from downstairs.  

“What if I told you that royalty or not, I’m hoping to endear myself enough to you so that I can get your number?”  The explanation, however shaky and patched together, seems to work for Emma.  She bites her lip coyly, and his heart flip-flops in his chest.

He is a goner.

…

Jimmy John’s is a fluorescent nightmare, and Emma is feeling tired from the alcohol and the events of the evening.   She orders her usual (“number twelve”) and reaches into her purse to pull out her wallet and credit card.   She hands it to the cashier after the others finish ordering, and when Ruby bounces off towards the soda fountains, she turns to look at Killian. 

She’s sure that she looks a wreck, makeup smeared and hair a mess, but he looks ridiculously hot in his t-shirt and jeans.  He keeps running his hands through his hair but when he notices her looking at him, he turns and smiles, and her stomach does a somersault. 

He is undoubtedly the hottest guy she’s never met and the way that he hands her a drink cup then ushers her towards the soda machine confirms that he’s a perfect gentleman too.   

Emma won’t forget the way how kind he was to her when she completely embarrassed herself (she can feel her skin flush when she thinks of how silly she must seem, getting sick from cheap beer) and she watches him out of the corner of his eye as he dips to pick up two bags of chips from below the counter.  She gets Coke, and glances over to find Ruby talking to some guys in a nearby booth. 

“She’s something else,”                Killian says, his voice right beside her ear.  Emma takes a step away because his presence next to her is more than she can handle at the moment (she still wants to make out with him _so bad_ , but even though he’s saying nice things to her, she can’t be sure that he wants the same).

“That’s our Ruby,” she says with a shrug.  “Better go stop her from getting into trouble.”

She glides up to Ruby and links her arm through hers, not even glancing at the boys that Ruby is talking to because suddenly no other male can hold her attention as much as the one she just walked away from.  “Let’s go, darling,” she says, steering Ruby away from the pack of boys and towards the counter, where Killian stands holding their sandwiches.

Emma pushes Ruby into the nearest booth, and slides in beside her.  Killian slides in across from them.

Ruby starts up a steady conversation that meanders all over the place from his band to his major to the frat (which he is not a member of, but apparently he’s friends with Eric too) and it moves so fast that Emma can’t keep up so she just chews, eats her chips slowly, and watches Killian handle Ruby with composure that only her mother could match.   It’s impressive, to say the least, and when Ruby climbs over her to head to the bathroom, she tells him as much.

“Thanks for being so nice to Ruby,” she tells him with a smile, and he smiles back, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. 

“It’s easy to be nice to someone as friendly as her,” he responds.  His eyes are so blue in this harsh light, and she likes that.

She likes _him_ , and she hasn’t ever felt this way before. 

There is an awkward pause as both of them clean up their sandwich wrappers and stand, throwing away the garbage in a nearby trashcan.   Emma refills her Coke before Ruby returns, and by the time they’re back on the way to the dorms, she feels more than sober.

She also feels more than alive because as they walk, her hand touches Killian’s (who seems to want to walk so close to her that their arms brush and her breath catches ever time) while Ruby keeps walking and talking,  leaving them in her wake.  Every touch is like brushing against a live wire, sending heat and energy through her body into her core, and she feels dizzy and breathless in its wake.

“I’ve never seen the inside of these dorms,” Killian points out once they reach their residence hall, and Ruby stops, spins around, a smile on her face.

“And you won’t, because boys aren’t allowed after eight,” she teases in a sing-song voice, and Killian shoves his hands in his pockets, raises his eyebrows.

“Maybe I’ll stop back sometime before eight,” he responds, and Ruby laughs as she reaches into her purse and pulls out her prox card.

“I’ll see you upstairs, Em,” she says, swiping her prox card against the pad, and the door clicks open.  She waves once at them, and then closes the door behind her.

They look at each other for a moment, shyness spreading between them, and Emma decides to break it the tension.  What she’s going to do is reckless and Graham AND Leroy would fuss at her, but she doesn’t care.  “Let me see your phone.”

Killian quirks an eyebrow before reaching into his back pocket.  He types in the lock code and then hands it to her.    She takes a few moments, presses a few buttons, and then hands it back to him.  From her purse, she hears her phone buzz and she smiles at his confusion.

“Thanks for giving me your number, Killian,” she says, turning towards the door, excited about the dazed look in his eyes, but he reaches out and grabs her wrist before she can fully turn away.  His grip is light but enough to make her stop and spin back towards him.  And that is when he moves

He cups her head with both hands, takes a deep breath, and kisses her.

It is not desperate, like their first earlier tonight, but it is not easy either, and she rests her hands on his stomach, one hand clutching her keys in her fist, as the kisses deepens.  He kisses her like she’s the only thing he wants to taste, like he can’t get enough of her and there’s something about that which makes her legs go weak.

She stops the kiss, takes a shaky breath before resting her forehead against his.  “I’ll see you around, okay?” she says softly.

“Yes,” he breathes, and when she steps back and turns away this time, he doesn’t follow her.

“Goodnight, Emma,” he calls softly, and she can’t look back at him because she won’t want to stop moving forward.  She swipes her prox card, opens the door, and escapes into the dim residence hall.

(She cannot sleep that night because she wants nothing more than to think of him, of his eyes and his face and his hands, the taste of him, and she buries her face in her pillow to contain her excitement).

…

Killian spends most of Sunday staring at his phone, drafting text messages that he doesn’t dare send because none of them are right (and that’s because he doesn’t know what he’s doing when it comes to Emma).

 _Emma._  He swears he can still feel her curls between his fingers, still taste her on his lips.

When he wakes up late Sunday morning, the events of the past night crash into him with such force that he cannot help but feel overwhelmed.  The possibility that someone from his country could actually be here, that he would meet them at a party, and that person might just be the Crown Princess…

It occurs to him that he probably shouldn’t have made out with her, but she seemed to like it.

He knows he did.

Robin, his roommate, rolls in around 2pm (from where, Killian doesn’t know and doesn’t ask) and glances at Killian before heading straight to the fridge and grabbing a soda.

“You look flustered,” he says, sitting down on the couch opposite Killian.  “Walk of shame gone wrong?  Was the gig last night really that bad?”

Killian sets the phone down, checking to make sure he hasn’t sent the message that he was working on accidentally.  Robin knows all about his backstory and why he’s here, and Killian knows that he will probably have a few choice words for the situation that he’s put himself in, which means he’ll have to fluff the details, because he can still remember the look on Emma’s face when she mentioned her mother (and protecting Emma is the only way he can justify that this as _not_ being bad form).

“I met a girl last night from back home,” he says.  Robin’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Didn’t think there were many of you here,” Robin tells him.  He takes a sip of his soda.  “And?”

“You know how I feel about…that time in my life.” 

“But you like her,” Robin points out.  “Or you wouldn’t be agonizing over sending her a text.”

Killian pinches the bridge of his noise between his fingers. “It’s that obvious, isn’t it?”

“You don’t get like this over girls – well, ever, now that I think of it…”  Robin smiles at him.  “We’ve got that station meeting at 3pm, so I’m going to shower and then we should head over.”

Killian sighs and reaches for his phone.  He had completely forgotten about the station-wide meeting that the general manager of their radio station, Regina, had scheduled for today.  He’s actually grateful, because it means that he’ll be able to distract himself from Emma for at least an hour, maybe more.

He stares at the text message one more time before opening his email instead.  Maybe absence will make the heart grow fonder, and will help him figure out what to text a princess.

…

Killian does not text her, and Emma grows impatient. 

“Have you heard from him?” Ruby asks at lunch on Tuesday.  Emma pokes her salad with her fork.  From across the room she can see Graham, her security detail, eating lunch and keeping an eye on her.   She desperately hopes that he cannot hear this conversation, that he is blissfully ignorant of the struggles of her heart because that is the last thing her mother needs to hear about.

“No.”  She doesn’t like the radio silence that seems to be going on between Killian and herself, and yet she doesn’t know what to do to end it.  She’s a princess.  She’s rich.  Most of her relationships have been arranged by her parents – heavily chaperoned “get to know you” dates which usually end with Emma vowing to never be set up again.  

“So why haven’t you texted him?”

Emma glances up at Ruby and realizes that she’s absolutely serious.  

“I don’t know,” Emma says.  It’s the truth.  She’s so used to having other people do the work for her that the one moment of recklessness – using his phone to get his number – seems like a distant memory.   She blinks.

“What would I even say?” she asks.   Ruby smiles.

“Give me your phone.  I’ll type something, and you get final approval.” 

Emma fishes her phone out of her bag and hands it to Ruby, who types something and then hands it back to her.

**Hey!  How is your Tuesday going?**

“That’s lame,” Emma points out.  Ruby shrugs.

“It’s progress.  Just send it, Em, and see what happens.”

Nervously, Emma presses ‘Send’, and the message drifts out into the ether.  She puts her phone back into her bag.  “Just so you know, if he doesn’t respond and my heart is broken, I’m counting on you to buy me ice cream.”

“He’s going to text you back,” Ruby reassures her.  “But yes, my darling, I will buy you all of the ice cream you so deserve for having your heart broken, and I will play Taylor Swift and cry with you, because that boy was choice.”  She pauses, and smiles.  “But I think he’ll text you back.”

“Whatever.”  Emma turns back to her lunch, trying to not be hyper-aware of the silent phone in her bag.  After lunch is political science then women’s studies, and that is when her phone buzzes.

 _Please don’t be an email, please don’t be an email_ , Emma wishes frantically as she tries to discretely check her phone.  She grabs it out of her bag and puts it on her lap, then turns her attention back to the professor at the front of the class.

She presses a button and – there it is: a message from Killian.

**Could be better – TR are my 8 to 8 days.  What about you?**

She smiles.  He responded. And he asked back.  But what if this is just him being polite? What if he doesn’t really know what to say because he’s really not that interested?

**Ten more minutes then I’m free for the day.**

Oh god, was that too forward? Was she asking him out? She just wants to talk to him, she doesn’t know if she’s ready for that – she texts more.

**MWF are my rough days – 8 am class.  I am a glutton for punishment.**

She turns back to the professor who is talking about gender as a social construct.  Her phone buzzes.

**How awful.  My MWF are usually wide open.**

What does that even mean?

Class ends and Emma leaves, phone in her hand, wondering what she should text before it buzzes again.

**So, we have band practice tomorrow night but if you’re bored in the afternoon, you should stop by my radio show.  Basement of Truman – 4-6pm.**

He’s a dj? And he plays in a band?  Suddenly Killian seems way cooler than he was previously, and Emma is momentarily speechless.  What would Ruby say?

**I’d like that.**

His response is quick and includes an emoticon.

 **Great :)** **See you tomorrow then.**

Her phone buzzes again.

**Your highness.**

She can’t even find the energy to be mad at him because all of her energy is directed in her fervent desire not to make a fool of herself by jumping up and down in the middle of campus.

(She does it anyway).


	3. three

Emma runs her finger down the strap of her messenger bag as she approaches door to Truman Hall, the student union.  She can feel butterflies in her stomach and she’s not sure why.   It’s just a boy.  It’s just hanging out.

Nothing will happen at a public radio station. 

But what is this is a date? She’s not dressed for anything to happen either – leggings, boots, and an oversized sweatshirt that her dorm was selling that has the university logo and her floor name (HILTON HOTTIES!).   She wonders if she should have dressed nicer.  Her mother would have at least told her to put on a pair of pants or a nicer shirt, but Ariel always wears something like this when she’s hanging out with Eric, and Eric seems to like her well enough…

(She keeps thinking of the feel of his hand in her hair, the movement of his lips against hers, and her breath catches in her throat.)

Oh God, please let this not be a date.  There is no way that she is mentally prepared for that.

 _Now or never_ , Emma tells herself as she walks through the doors of the student union, following the directions that Killian texted this morning.  The radio station is located in the basement, but it takes some time to find the stairs that takes her there (Killian told her WOUT was tucked away but she’s surprised it’s _this_ tucked away).

The stairs end at the radio station, where a large window allows her to peer into the dj booth. She can see Killian inside, head bobbing along to the music.  She stops for a second and watches as he stacks CDs near turntables (who still uses them?), messing around with the computer, singing along to the music.   Seeing him makes her feel lots of things at once, and when he turns around and catches her staring, she blushes and he smiles.

He points to his left, which is where the door must be so Emma heads towards it, finally stepping into the dim studio.  She can hear the music that he was playing now, strumming guitars and a drum beat and some melancholy lyrics repeating ‘hang it up now or never’ over and over again.  She doesn’t know much about music, usually listens to whatever Ruby or Ariel is playing in the suite, and so all of this is new and exciting and terrifying all at once. 

What if her taste in music is a turn-off?  What if, in the end, he’s only interested in the fact that she’s royalty?  The open window of the booth makes her nervous – what if this is a set up to take pictures?  She’s been lucky so far because they’ve kept her being here low-key, out of the press, and it’s not like she’s ever caused a scandal – save for Prince William’s wedding, she hasn’t exactly been in the spotlight (Princess Madeleine is still pissed at her for missing her wedding in Sweden last June but she’s promised to make it up when the baby is born).  Her mother has kept her appearances minimal, has fed the press stories of her interest in different universities abroad but not this once, in its small college town.   

(Back home it was always the rich boys and sons of minor noble houses who wanted their name linked with hers in the papers, boys she avoided because she wants more than just to be loved because she is the Crown Princess, more than jewels and tiaras and land.  She wants to be loved because of who she is than what title she will inherit, and she’s sure there is no man in her kingdom who could ever see her as just Emma.)

It’s a good thing that Killian is not from her kingdom, because Emma thinks he can see past the fancy titles and silliness and can see her.  Or, at least, she hopes.  Even if Emma may have generic taste in music and pretty much just listens to whatever Ruby or Ariel play in the suite.  She does like Lorde a lot, though, so maybe he does too?  Everyone likes Lorde, right?  

 “Lately Emma someone calls you on the telephone,” Killian sings at her as she enters the dj booth, “you want to be by yourself and all alone…” He winks at her, and she can’t stop blushing.

She is such a dork but she’s never felt this way before, which is the only way she can justify this ridiculous behavior.

“You look lovely when you’re embarrassed, princess,” he tells her, hands moving to his headphones. “I just need to do a station announcement and I’ll be right with you.”

Emma nods, looking away from him bashfully.  Her fingers turn to the cd shelves that line the walls, fingers tracing the spines.  She doesn’t know half of these bands, suddenly feels very self-aware in this small room which is clearly Killian’s space (it even smells a bit like him, something spicy and faint which makes her heart pound in her chest)

She barely knows him but the connection she felt Saturday night was immediate and intense.  Her parents fell in love at first sight, and while Emma’s doesn’t believe in that sort of nonsense, she is starting to come around to the idea that it’s possible to meet someone and instantly feel a magnetic pull.

The music ends, his voice comes on, and she doesn’t breathe, so scared the microphone will pick it up (because complaining about the Minster from Luxembourg smelling of cheese when she was five and having everyone hear it will be something she never lives down, not with her father at least).

“This is WOUT your university radio station, broadcasting from the basement of your student union.  Comments, questions, and remonstrance’s - as well as requests - are welcome; you know the drill. Next up is some alt-J, by request.”

He clicks a button and pushes back from the microphone.  Emma knows this song – it’s Belle’s ring tone (does she listen to WOUT?  She’ll have to ask.)

“So you came,” he says, removing his headphones. 

Emma nods her head, and Killian motions her closer.  

“Welcome to WOUT.  It’s not that big, as you can see,” he says, scratching the back of his neck with his hand.  “Want a tour?”

He shows her the soundboard, the cd decks and the turntables, the extensive room with more cds and vinyl records, the computer that hooks up and places MP3s and digital files.  “We stream live on the web too, so you can listen from wherever,” he tells her with a smile.   His hand is resting on her back (when did he put it there and how did she not notice? Is it because she wanted him to touch her and that it’s so natural when he does, fingers brushing softly against her spine)and she can feel it through her sweatshirt, heat radiating through her, making her feel flushed.

Killian does things to her that both embarrass her and make her feel more alive than she’s ever felt and when she looks up at him, catching him looking at her in return, she can tell the feeling is mutual.  He clears his throat and looks away, removing his hand, and Emma takes a deep breath and a step back.

“How long have you worked here?” she asks, easing onto a nearby stool.  

“Since I got here – met my roommate working here, met the drummer of our band…it’s been good,” he tells her.   She cocks her head to the side and smiles, and he looks at her and smiles back.

“I’m really glad you came,” Killian says.

“Me too.”  Emma lets out a small laugh, looking away from him.  “Oh my god, I am easily the most awkward person ever.”

 “Is that so, your highness?” he teases, and she ducks her head down, hiding her face with her hair.

“I can’t stop blushing around you,” she responds with a groan.  She hears him laugh, hears his chair roll closer.  He brings his hands up to her hair, pushes it back behind her ears.  

“I thought you’re supposed to be a cool, confident hottie,” he tells her and she looks up, realizing how ridiculously close their faces are.  She doesn’t mind it but it puts her in the difficult position of wanting to kiss him and not wanting to do it in front of that damned window. 

“What?” she asks, startled by his words, and he laughs.

“Your sweatshirt says you’re a hottie, so…” he trails off and she groans, rolling her eyes which makes him laugh.  She likes it when he laughs – it’s a nice sound.

“It’s from my res hall.”  She shakes her head.   “Was that some sort of attempt to cheer me up?”

“Possibly – and to show you that you’re _not_ the most awkward person in the room.”  Killian rolls his chair back, starts to fiddle with something on the computer.  He keeps talking to her, not looking at her. “So I’m starting to think that two such awkward individuals such as ourselves should spend more time together being awkward, as we are probably not fit for anyone else’s company.”

His words send a jolt through Emma and suddenly she’s not flushed and flustered, she’s cold as ice, stomach dropping as his words sink in.  She can barely response with, “Maybe,” before her heart jumps to her throat in anticipation.

Killian spins his chair back around to her as a new song begins to play. “Dinner this Friday, then?” There is a faint grin on his lips.

Emma smiles nervously.  “Like a date?”

”Nothing fancy – do you like Chinese food?”

Emma nods her head, and the grin on his face widens until he’s looking like a total goof.

“Fantastic. Dinner it is.”

She can’t help but feel giddy at the prospect of a date with him.  She doesn’t know what it is but it just feels...amazing, being around him.  She feels alive, she feels ridiculous, she feels happy, because for the first time in her life someone wants to be with Emma, not the princess.

“Killian, I – “ a girl with short dark hair and violent red highlights enters the studio.  She glances at Killian, then at Emma, and raises a perfect eyebrow.  Her gaze makes Emma shift in her seat, makes her worry for a moment because Emma swears a flash of recognition crosses the other woman’s face before it is gone, features carefully schooled to look intrigued but indifferent

“Regina, this is Emma,” Killian says.  “Emma, this is Regina.  She’s the general manager of the radio station.”

Regina turns to face Emma, examining her from kohl-rimmed eyes.  Regina looks incredibly fierce – black studded t-shirt, ratty jeans, high-heeled black boots, multiple piercings in her ear and one in her nose.  She looks Emma up and down (she’s feeling totally underdressed compared to this other girl) before extending her right hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she says.  Emma nods before Regina turns back to Killian.

“I need the spring programming schedule by Monday – can you do that?” she asks.  

Killian nods.   “Will do, darling,” he says.  “It will be in your inbox by Monday.”

“Fabulous.  I will send you the new hires list and you can fit them in.  Robin’s going to schedule training so make sure to forward the schedule to him as well.   She looks over at Emma one final time and says, “Nice to meet you, Emma,” before leaving the room. 

There is silence in the room as the track ends and another begins, and Emma shifts on the stool, re-crossing her legs.  

“She seems nice,” Emma offers, and Killian laughs.

“She’s fine,” he tells her.  “Better GM than others we’ve had, so I’m not complaining.

Emma smiles, settles back onto the stool as Killian looks back towards the stack of cds on the counter.

“So play me your favorite tracks,” she asks, enjoying how his eyes light up. 

“You are in for a lovely afternoon, princess,” he promises, and Emma finds that when he calls her ‘princess’, she actually likes it.

…

Killian returns home late from band practice, exhausted already at the prospect of 8am class tomorrow but with adrenalin coursing through his veins.  He walks to the fridge, grabs a beer, and heads to his room, trying to ignore the sound of Robin’s extracurricular activities coming from across the hall.  He checks his phone, checks his email, checks his Facebook, tries to figure out how to wind down.  The band is physically tiring but he’s mentally awake thinking of new song lyrics and of Emma.   Since Saturday, Emma has been on his mind constantly.

His thoughts drift back to earlier that evening, walking Emma to the stairwell.  The way that she told him that she’d have to walk up alone or else someone might see, and so he kissed her there, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close against him. 

He wants to write songs about her beauty, the way that her hair catches the harsh track lighting in the studio and glows gold, the perfect angles of her face and the taste of her lips.  He wants to write symphonies about the way that her eyes look at him like she understands everything that he is, bruised and broken.   When she is with him, he feels whole for the first time in forever.

But she is a princess, and even if he doesn’t care about her title or crown, it is impossible to ignore.

“Did she show up?”

Killian looks up from his laptop, then looks away, holding up an arm to block the view.  “I’m glad you’re wearing something, mate, but still.”

Robin laughs, crossing the room and flopping onto Killian’s bed in just his boxers.  “Did she show up? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“She did,” Killian says, spinning his chair to face Robin.  “We have a date on Friday.”

“Good for you,” Robin tells him.  “I’m proud of you – you’re usually the one night stand type of guy.”

“I think you’re mistaking me with you,” Killian points out. 

“Probably,” a familiar voice says, and Killian glances up to see Regina, wearing one of Robin’s plaid shirts, leaning against the doorway.  “So Robin said you were head-over-heels for some girl?”

Killian raises his eyes.  He wasn’t expecting the girl that Robin had over to be Regina, but then again he only knows Regina through WOUT and while she’s technically their boss (as much as student volunteers can have bosses), she’s been a fair one.  And, whenever there were station functions, Regina was actually fun to hang out with.  Still -  Robin is all plaid flannel and forestry classes; he listens to Mumford and Sons, for god’s sake, and the Kings of Leon are on constant repeat whenever a new album comes out.  Regina is all black eyeliner and hard edges, her taste in music obscure and complex, her show shifting from deep cuts of electronica to post-rock and the occasional Sub Pop band (probably added for the sake of irony, he thinks). 

He checks to make sure his mouth isn’t totally agape.

“Very much so,” Robin confirms, and Regina smiles slowly.

“The one you were with in the studio today?  Did you forget we have a security camera in there?”

“That no one knows how to operate and is only used when we think someone is stealing from us?” Killian points out, feeling bad that he totally forgot about the camera (what would Emma think? He wonders.  She’d probably be upset.  He would, if he was royalty and was being filmed secretly).  “And don’t they just record over the tape every seventy-two hours anyway?”

“Details, details,” Regina says with a shrug.   “But I guess if your girlfriend’s royalty…”

“Excuse me?” Killian asks.

“You know she’s a princess, right?” Regina asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Killian protests just as Robin smacks the back of Killian’s chair and yells, “Princess?!”

“Crown Princess, if People Magazine was right.”  Regina looks at Killian.  Her eyes narrow, and she nods.  “Of course you knew.  Are you from her kingdom? I bet you are – you’re certainly not from around here.  Shit, Killian.”

“And how do you know this?”  Killian asks Regina, as Robin curses under his breath.

“Just because I seem like a callous bitch doesn’t mean I don’t have layers,” Regina says with a smirk.  “I read the Royal Wedding issues of People AND Time Magazine cover to cover.  Your girlfriend was there hanging out with the other Crown Princes and Princesses.”

“And why are you reading about royal weddings?” Killian asks while Robin lets out a deep chuckle

Regina cocks her head to the side.  “Because I do, and that’s all you need to know.  Besides, that Kate Middleton may dress like a soccer mom but you have to admire a McQueen by Sarah Burton wedding dress – even if I’m not sure I agree with all of her sartorial choices with the label these days.” 

Behind him, Robin stands up, wraps his arms around Regina’s waist, and pulls her towards him.  

“That was actually really sexy,” he tells her, “the way that you totally owned him,” and Killian groans.

“Get out, you idiots,” Killian says, “and close the door behind you.”

“Last I checked, you hated all royalty – especially from there.”  Killian risks a glance up at Robin, looking away when he sees Regina sucking on his neck.  He concentrates on the laptop screen.

“I hate the politics, not the royalty.  It’s a constitutional monarchy so it’s the governing body that’s corrupt and deplorable, not the Queen and not her daughter.”

Robin chuckles again.  “I’m not one to judge, mate – but does she know how you feel?”

Regina adds, “Does she even know you’re from the same place?”

When Killian stays silent, Robin shakes his head and Regina mumbles, “lovesick puppy” under her breath.  Robin grabs Killian’s doorknob and pulls the door shut behind them, leaving Killian alone to his thoughts.

They’re right:  Emma doesn’t know that he’s from there.  Looking back, at no point did he ever tell her that he was from the same country, nor did she ever tell him where she was from.  Maybe she assumes he Googled her name?  He hasn’t, in any case, because he doesn’t need to – he knows everything all too well.  Queen Mary-Margaret, Prince Consort David, and Crown Princess Emma.  He remembers when King Leopold died and when his daughter assumed the throne – he was maybe seven, remembers waving flags in the streets, being carried on Liam’s shoulders, while the royal family drove by in their motorcade.  Emma was five then, he guesses, just a child overwhelmed by the splendor of the day.

The day still stands out to him not because of the royal family but because it was a day off from school and he was in the care of his brother Liam, seven years older, already planning a career in the military.  Liam took him to the docks to watch the royal family on their barge, took him to watch the fireworks, took him everywhere.  It was one of the few times that Killian had Liam all to himself, when his brother didn’t have work or family obligations.

It was one of the happiest days of Killian’s life.

Emma doesn’t know the contempt he has for the government – the things he knows, what he has inadvertently done in pursuit of justice for his brother.   He’s not sure that Emma has much knowledge about the inner workings of the government, or any concept of the lives ruined by the majority leader of Parliament, Rumpel Cassidy, or “Mr. Gold” as the soldiers called him for his ability to silence all those who dissented against his party, usually by way of a cash bribe.

Or in some cases, the wrong end of a gun.

For the first time in a long time he thinks of Milah, her lifeless eyes, and he shudders.

He needs to tell Emma because the longer he doesn’t, the more it will weigh on his heart and mind that he is keeping a secret from her and he doesn’t know much about relationships but he knows that hiding the truth isn’t a good way to start one.   But telling her everything about himself… he doesn’t know how.  How can he tell her about all that he has done – all that has led him here?  He doesn’t want to lie, but his past is a shadow over the new life he made for himself here.

Killian refreshes Facebook.  At the very least, he may as well tell her they’re from the same country.  It’s not that big, but it wouldn’t be a lie.

He’ll figure it out by Friday, he thinks, taking another swig from his beer.  He’ll have to.  He needs to. 

He takes another drink.

…

Emma glances at the clock in Lieutenant Humbert’s– no, here she calls him Graham - room.  Its quarter to four, and her daily check-in with security is almost done.  Lieut - _Graham_ (it’s still so strange to call him by his first name),is at his desk, filling out the report, which she assumes will be emailed to Leroy and then on to her mother. It’s a tedious task, these daily check-ins, but if it keeps her mother off her back then Emma is all for it.

“Do you wish you had a bigger room?” she asks Graham and he shrugs.

“It’s bigger than the one I had at the barracks,” he says.  “Any evening plans?”

Emma sighs.  “Dinner near campus with a friend from class at seven.  I’m meeting them at the clock tower and we’ll walk together.”  This is what she told her roommates about her date, and it’s the easiest way to make sure that neither Leroy nor Graham will follow her to check on her.

Graham raises an eyebrow.  “Curfew?”

“Eleven.”

“You’re going to be at dinner until eleven?” Graham asks.

“You know us girls and how chatty we can get,” Emma says with a smile.  Graham shakes his head, but she can see the small grin on his face (he’s such a softy). 

“Do I need to ask more details about the classmate in question?” he asks her, but she just smiles wider.

“Oh, you know me.  I am the least likely out of all my roommates to get into trouble.  I’m a good little princess who doesn’t want to cause any problems,” she tells him and it’s the truth: none of the other girls have the fear of cameras or the fear of their mother’s disapproval to keep them from being reckless.  If Emma is reckless, it will end up on the news, she knows it.  

Plus, Leroy is always super-grumpy and his lectures on responsibility were tedious to endure and Emma will do anything to avoid _that_.

“What about Belle?” Graham points out.

“Overdue book fees.”  Emma winks at him, and he smiles.

“All right, then, your highness.   I trust that you will text me when you return to your quarters this evening.”

Emma mock-salutes him.  “Yes sir,” she says, as she heads out the door and upstairs to her room.

She’s got three hours to kill until her date with Killian, and her only plan is to try on every outfit in her closet to find the right one – one that says “I’m into you” and “I want to make out with your face” while still being respectable.  

She’s never done this before – never gone on a casual date, is used to wearing modest dresses or formal gowns, and even though her wardrobe here is less formal than her wardrobe at home, she’s struggling to determine what would look cute.  As a result, it takes a significant amount of time, and some help from Belle, who she discreetly tells about her date with the promise that she won’t tell Graham (Belle sincerely crosses her heart before helping Emma braid her hair back from her face, which is a sweet gesture and incredibly cute).

“You look lovely,” Belle tells her, smiling shyly, and Emma grins.

“But not too much, right?” she asks, looking down at her clothes.  They kept it simple but cute for dinner at a Chinese restaurant – chambray shirt, dark green skinny jeans, brown riding boots.  Emma wraps a patterned scarf from her mother around her neck, checks herself in the mirror.

“No – it’s just dinner, after all,” Belle points out.  “And it’s just Jade Garden, so it’s not that fancy. I mean, they let you use your meal card there.”

“So what would be fancy?” Emma asks.  Belle shrugs.

“Somewhere downtown and not near campus – that sushi place? Or maybe the new gastropub?  Anywhere they don’t take meal cards.”

“True,” Emma says.  She checks her makeup one last time before glancing at the clock.  Fifteen minutes until seven.  There are butterflies in her stomach at the thought.

“If you’re not back at eleven…” Belle asks, because she knows about Emma’s curfew.  Emma shrugs.

“I’ll tell Graham we’re getting coffee too.  I’ll be home by twelve,” she says.  “Thanks for your help.”  She hugs Belle.

“It was a pleasure, your – Emma,” Belle says.  

Emma grabs her purse.  “Wish me luck!”

Her heart hammers the entire walk to the clock tower, her thoughts on her date with Killian. They’ve been texting rather frequently in the past few days and she’s gotten to the point where a new text from him makes her super freaking excited.  As a result, the anticipation has been slowly building to the point where, when she sees him waiting in a dark blue button-down and a pair of jeans, she can’t help but grin like an idiot.

“Hey,” she says, and she extends her arms almost automatically, letting him hug her.   She’s surprised to notice that there is nothing weird about the fact that this is their first official date.  But then again she’s already kissed him three times and there’s something between them that makes intimacy not so startling.

Also, he smells really freaking good. 

“You look amazing, princess,” he tells her, letting go of her and scratching the bad of his neck with his hand (a nervous tic, she decides, maybe he’s as nervous as she is), and she responds, “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Well,” Killian says, running his hand through his hair, “Ready to get some Chinese?”

Emma smiles.  “That sounds fantastic.”

And as they walk towards the main street, where all the restaurants near campus are located, she slips her hand into his, feeling the warmth of his palm pressed against her own, enjoying the way that it felt to be near him.   She’s never felt like this before, and every new and novel sensation is exciting to her.  

She never wants this feeling to go away.

She squeezes his hand, thrilled when he squeezes back.


	4. four

“So he’s from back home?” Belle asks, placing her fork down on the edge of her plate.  

Emma takes a sip of coffee before nodding her head.  “Yeah,” she says easily.  “Yeah, he is.”

The simple statement, spoken in confidentially to her roommate in the dining hall, does little to actually explain everything Emma is feeling right now.  She could barely sleep last night as she turned over her date with Killian in her head, looking it from every angle.

Her heart hurts.

It had started out well – great, actually, it was really great walking to the Chinese restaurant hand-in-hand.  They had no shortage of things to talk about, and Emma was happy that conversation seemed to flow so easily, that other than pauses and coy glances at each other, everything seemed to be going really well (there had been worse evenings in her life, like any time she was forced to attend a state dinner with any random Young Lord Grabby-Hands).

Until, halfway done with their food, Killian had dropped his bombshell.

He was nervous, Emma can tell in retrospect, and rightfully so, because suddenly switching from pleasant conversation about the university’s football team to announcing that he’s actually from her small little kingdom?

(Her ears still ring a bit form when _that_ truth bomb went off.)

Emma picks up her fork, pushes her scrambled egg around on her plate.  Belle clears her throat.

“What did you say?”

Emma holds up a piece of egg, decides not to eat it.  “I was polite, and I told him that information such as that needed to be disclosed prior to a dinner date.”

 _Which is saying it nicely,_ Emma thinks.  Her immediate instinct was to leave the situation as soon as possible, but the restaurant was full of patrons and it dawned on her, slowly, that exiting in the manner she so very much desired (perhaps a well-thrown verbal barb, definitely stomping out in a huff) would draw attention to herself, and that’s the last thing she wanted to do.  It may draw attention to her presence, which would definitely draw Leroy’s attention, and Graham would get in trouble because she did not tell him she would be on a date, and her mother would demand that she return home immediately and she didn’t want that at all.

Okay, so that was a total worst-case scenario, but Emma can’t help how her mind automatically goes that direction.  _The perils of being a princess,_ she thinks bitterly.  Always in the public eye – except for now, and it had been going so well…

“I think we should leave soon,” is all that she said, and when they parted for the night, they did not hug and she walked back to the dorm cold and alone and terrified (she tries not to remember the broken look on Killian’s face; she fails).

“But why would he not tell you?” Belle asks.  Emma shrugs.

“I wish I knew that.”

She really wishes she knew the answer, because everything was so good, and everything was so perfect, so of course it would fall apart, right?  Because this is too much of a leap of faith that she would find someone while here – it is too much to believe that she would have an honest chance of finding someone who didn’t know and didn’t care about her title -

Belle says something but Emma’s not paying attention.  She shakes her head, clears away the thoughts that are plaguing her.  “What?”

“Well, did he lie to you about where he was from?” Belle repeats.  Emma takes a deep breath and studies her coffee.

“No,” she admits.  They never made it past names and majors before they were making out at the party, and everything since then had been small talk and more making out, so other than her admission that she as a princess…

Emma sighs.  “He did take the fact that I was…who I am…really well when I told him.  He didn’t even ask where I was from.”

“So I don’t really see what the problem is,” Belle tells her.  “You like him a lot, he already knows who you are, and he didn’t lie to you.”

Emma sighs. “You’re all about honesty, aren’t you?” she remarks.  Belle shrugs.

“I tend to believe that relationships built on lies don’t last,” Belle explains.  “If anything, this is a sin of omission, not dishonesty. Perhaps he was scared? I know I was when they told me…” she trails off, blushing, and Emma smiles gently.  She knows exactly what Belle is going to say because she heard it all the time when she was younger – in school, in the scouts, at other times: she is royalty, and that is overwhelming.  

“I’m sorry if I’m intimidating,” she says, and Belle shakes her head.

“No, no – it’s not that.  It’s just…you’ll be my queen someday, if I go back home.”  Belle smiles and reaches for Emma’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.  “Trust me, there are far more intimidating people in the world than you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”  Emma lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she mulls over Belle’s words.

Belle’s right.  It’s not even the fact that he didn’t lie to her that bothers her.  It’s the fact that he’s from her kingdom, and that he knows who she is, that rankles her.  He knows.  Which is a different kind of awkward because he also knows what she looked like when she was thirteen and a bit awkward and chunky (she also grew three inches that year and her skin looks much better now).

She doesn’t know if he’s only interested in her because she’s the princess, or because of some other reason.  Did he recognize her at the party? She knows he’s been here for years because it’s pretty clear his life is established – they ran into multiple people that he knew on the way to the restaurant, the servers knew him, and he’s got a band that seems relatively well-established.  This isn’t just some ridiculous stalker out to date a princess.

This might be more than that.

“You’re worried,” Belle says, and Emma sighs.

“I don’t want to be taken advantage of,” she tells her.  “I don’t want some guy to date me because I’m…me.”

“What if he’s dating you in spite of the fact that you’re you?” Belle points out. 

“That would be a first,” Emma comments.  Belle just smiles, and leans forward to whisper conspiratorially.

“Besides, we could always look him up on Facebook.”

The idea sounds brilliant and Emma’s almost embarrassed she didn’t think of it sooner.  “Let’s do it,” she tells Belle, grabbing her tray.  Facebook stalking would totally guarantee that she would get a better idea of what’s going on with Killian, and if really just was a creeper trying to date a princess (she really hopes he’s not, because she really wants to keep kissing him).

But of course, it’s a lot harder than it seems.

“How can he not have a Facebook?” Emma asks, trying yet another combination of “Killian Jones” (there aren’t many) while Belle offers suggestions.  They are huddled around Emma’s computer, door closed for privacy. 

“Some people don’t do Facebook anymore,” Belle offers, which makes Emma sigh.  Her own Facebook is ridiculous and locked down because the only people that want to friend her on Facebook are people she knows from back home and she doesn’t Snap Chat (her mother would kill her) and this is –

“This is ridiculous,” she says.  Belle sighs.

“I guess asking him why he doesn’t is out of the question?” Belle asks, and Emma is so frustrated right now that she grabs her phone and texts him immediately.

**Why don’t you have a Facebook?**

She puts the phone on her desk and taps her fingers.  Belle giggles.

“What?”

“It’s 10 in the morning on a Saturday,” Belle points out.  “Do you really think that –“

The phone vibrates and Emma practically lunges for it.

**Is there any reason you’re asking, princess?**

Emma huffs, shows it to Belle, who says, “Just tell him.”

Emma rolls her eyes.  Infuriating bastard. 

**Because I’m trying to Facebook stalk you.**

“That seems a bit much,” Belle points out.  

“It’s the truth.”  Emma leans back in her desk chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “We _are_ trying to Facebook stalk him.”

“I prefer to call it ‘research’,” Belle adds as a caveat, and she nudges Emma’s shoulder with her own.  It makes Emma feel better to have Belle with her during all of this – the date last night, this morning.  It feels good to know that someone understands her predicament.

“Thanks,” she tells Belle, who smiles smugly and says, “Of course, your highness,” which makes Emma groan and roll her eyes.

“You sound just like him –“

The phone vibrates again.

**It’s under my email address - kj998 at –**

Emma types it into the search box and it pops up, just K Jones and his picture with some man with blond hair.  Everything seems vaguely legit, which Belle comments on, and Emma can actually feel the vice that’s been clenched around her heart ease up a bit.  There is nothing about her country, nothing about information that seems to be from the last three years (it even says he joined three years ago).  There are tons of pictures of him playing with his band, more with him and the radio station crew (Regina pops up occasionally).

Maybe Belle’s right, and maybe Killian likes her in spite of who she is.

The phone vibrates.

**So are we going to be Facebook friends?**

Emma lets out a small laugh, and sends the request.  It’s immediately accepted, and by that point he’s sent another text.

**I think we should talk.**

“I think you should too,” Belle tells her softly.  “At least, hear him out.  You can do it here if you’d like – that way there will be people nearby.  I don’t want you to be alone with him, in case…” Belle trails off, and Emma agrees.

“Thank you – I mean it.  You’re a really good friend, Belle.”

As she texts Killian back ( **can you come over here?** ), Ruby chooses that moment to enter their room from her side of the suite.

“What are you two acting all sneaky about – oh, is that Killian?” she asks, glancing at Emma’s Facebook.  “I didn’t know you had a Facebook!”

Belle looks at Emma.  “Perhaps you should tell them,” she says quietly.  “The more people that know about you…”

This is a new development, and while Emma has been mulling it over for the better part of this semester, she’s not entirely sure how to tell people this sort of thing.  Dropping it drunkenly on Killian was a mistake, though now that things are out in the open between them (albeit dramatically) it seems easier to tell Ruby and Ariel.

“Tell us you’re royalty? We knew that from jump street,” Ruby says.  “Seriously, Ariel follows royal blogs on Tumblr.  She recognized you immediately but we’ve been trying to be cool because you know Prince Harry.”

“He’s probably going to marry Cressida,” Emma says, grinning widely despite the tears that she can feel forming.  She’s moved by this display of tact and discretion on behalf of people she’s only just met this year – Belle, Ariel, and Ruby, all of them being so kind and sweet to her.

“Well, what about Carl-Phillip?  Aren’t you related to them or something?” Ruby asks.  “I would move to Sweden for that hottie.”

Emma laughs.  “I’ll see what I can do.”  The phone in her hand buzzes.

**I have to do laundry this morning but maybe later? Running out of clean clothes and don’t want to look disrespectable in front of you…;)**

She texts back **Sounds good.  Let me know.**

“So what’s up with Killian?” Ruby asks.  Emma takes a deep breath and turns to Belle.

If anyone can help her with this problem, it’s these girls.

“It’s a long story…” Emma starts.

…

Killian is beyond nervous as he walks to Emma’s dorm.  He’s surprised she’s willing to meet him as disastrously as their date ended, but he is infinitely grateful as well.  He remembers her mother, benevolent and graceful when he was discharged, and thinks that perhaps Emma’s inherited more than her beauty.

The date was such an epic disaster that Killian dialed Robin the minute that he saw Emma disappear into the crowd near campus.  Robin was, as per usual, already at the dive bar he frequented, and so when Killian joined him, he ordered another round.

“So what happened?” Robin asked.

“I told the truth,” Killian said.  And the truth hurt.

He remembers, even now, the way that Emma’s face changed when she found out that they were from the same kingdom – when she learned that he knew who she was.  Her face froze, eyes wide and frightened, and all Killian could think was that this was the lesser offense – he had yet to tell her of Milah, or Gold, or anything he had done that made him choose voluntary exile over the loss of a limb.

She ended the date quickly and left with just one heartbreakingly devastated backward glance.

And now, apparently, he may have a chance for forgiveness or, at the very least, some way to reach a mutual understanding.  Killian does not expect things to go back to the way they were, but he does hope that they can be amicable enough so that if he sees her on campus, they will at least wave to each other.

Of course, that might be asking too much.

Emma greets him at the door, and she looks stunning in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, so different from what she wore on their date (but she is the most beautiful creature he’s seen regardless of what she wears).   “Let’s go upstairs,” she says, clutching her keys in her hand like a weapon, and Killian wonders if perhaps he was reading this wrong – perhaps this is not reconciliation, but rather something else entirely different. Perhaps she feels like, on her turf, she can rant at him all that she wants.

It makes no difference, he decides as they enter the elevator: he deserves whatever he gets for not being completely honest with her (even if he’s determined to keep other secrets in check for the time being).

Emma lives in a suite, and she introduces him to a slight girl with brown hair named Belle.  “She’s also from back home,” Emma says, smile faltering, and Belle is kind as she asks Killian how he is doing before leaving the room, leaving the common area to retreat to the bedrooms.    Emma heads towards the papizan and curls up in it, leaving him with no choice but to sit on the futon.

“Emma,” he starts, but she shakes her head. 

“Why didn’t you tell me when we met?” she asks.   Killian sighs, runs his hands through his hair.  He’s not sure what to say – a number of clever retorts come to mind – until he settles on the truth.

 “Why didn’t you tell me when we met?” she asks.   Killian sighs, runs his hands through his hair.  He’s not sure what to say – a number of clever retorts come to mind – until he settles on the truth.

“I don’t know,” he says.  “I think I was scared.  I mean…you’re the princess.  I’m just a commoner.  And I really like you.”   He can feel his face flush as he says the words, and across the room Emma curls in on herself, tucking her knees towards her chest.

“You could have told me,” she says, and Killian tries not to laugh. 

“When?  Before we were making out or after we got Jimmy John’s?  Before the radio station, probably, but I…the timing wasn’t right.”   There was never a good time (how do you give such information when you are still getting to know someone?).

“Belle says I should be merciful,” Emma tells him.  “Ruby says I should make you beg, and Ariel says I should follow my heart.”  She looks at him and his heart flips in his chest and he knows that he will never meet someone like her – may never feel this way again.  He nods his head, exhales slowly.

“And what do you think?” he asks.

Emma tilts her head to the left.  “I agree with all of them,” she says.  “Because I do like you – I like how I feel around you.  And as much as I’d love to see you beg…I think that maybe I should be merciful, too.”  She grins.  “Which is why you’re going to hang out with us tonight.”

This takes him off-guard.  “Us?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“My roommates and me.  They’re going to get to know you, and we’ll see how it goes.” Emma grins.  “It was their idea, but I agree with it.”

Killian feels like he is being let off the hook way too easily for this – he knows he’s not being forgiven, but he’s never had trouble charming the ladies and spending an evening with Emma and her roommates can’t be that bad (until he remembers the wolfish grin of that one girl from the party– Ruby – who Emma clearly listed as one of her roommates, and then he gets worried).

“As you wish,” he tells her. 

“Good.” Emma reaches for her phone from the papizan.  “What kind of pizza do you like?”

The rest of the evening is a blur, and in retrospect it is absolutely clear to Killian that every moment has been orchestrated perfectly by the four ladies of the suite: nothing is left unplanned from the choice of movies ( _Mean Girls,_ then _The Notebook_ ) to the pizza and seating arrangements (he is sandwiched between Ariel and Ruby on the futon) to the way that Ruby escorts him out the front door at 10pm only for Belle to help him sneak back upstairs through the side stairwell. 

“Rules are rules,” Belle says as an apology, “and Emma has a security team that would notice if she broke them.”  Killian agrees, thoroughly impressed by how dedicated Emma’s friends are.  They still barely know each other but the actions of the other girls speak volumes about Emma.

The evening hasn’t been that bad – her friends are nice, he does his best to charm them, but the real test comes later, when the others retire to their bedrooms and he is alone with Emma.  She puts _on The Princess Bride_ before coming to sit because him on the futon.  There is distance between them and he wants to close it – desperately – but he doesn’t, because he is frightened of moving too fast, of doing too much.  Instead, he waits as she takes out her phone, types into it, and then turns to him.

“They don’t think you’re a creeper,” Emma tells him as she scoots over, and he doesn’t have to wonder long who ‘they’ are. 

“So do I have a delay of sentence, then?” he asks, enjoying the feeling of her snuggling into his side more than he would like to admit (he would be lost without her, he knows this now, so incredibly lost without her).  Emma sighs.

“Just shut up and watch the movie,” she tells him.

“Interesting choice for a – “he starts, and she shakes her head.

“Shut up, Killian, and watch the movie,” she threatens, but he can see a hint of a grin on her face.

He does shut up, but he spends as much time watching her as he does the movie, and at some point both of them give up any pretenses of paying attention (and when her lips meet his, he feels like a drowning man being given air again).

He is in far too deep, and he fears what she will think of him when he tells her the entire story of his life.

…

The bed buzzes, waking Emma up.  The TV set is still on in the background, and when the bed buzzes again – phone, shit, it’s her phone – Emma struggles, the covers weighing her down as she reaches for it on the edge of the futon. It is only when there is a groan in her ear that she realizes that her covers are pulling her closer.  Warm air brushes against her neck as she thinks _Killian_.

Her eyes snap open as the events of the last day run through her head and she realizes that Killian is here, in the suite, with her (snuck in carefully by her roommates, those precious girls) and she is in his arms.  She remembers how they ended up entwined like this, how they both stopped watching the movie and started watching only each other, how she was the first to lean forward and place her lips against his. 

They didn’t do more than make out, though as he pulls her against him and presses a kiss against her neck, it is obvious to her that they could have done more (he doesn’t push her for anything and she doesn’t know why – she’s not used to such gentleness, such care from boys her own age – at least those she knows from home) and so when he kisses her below her ear she shifts away from him.

“No marks,” she cautions, reminding Killian of what she told him last night – how marks would be scrutinized by Leroy and Graham, how her mother would find out – and she remembers his response (he only kissed her more deeply, fingers trailing up her side, lingering beneath her breasts until she practically begged him to touch her). 

“Understood, princess,” he says, and she shivers from the feeling of his breath on her neck.

She reaches for her phone and it lights up the dark room.  Killian groans, tucking his face away from the light and into her shoulder, and Emma quickly checks her text-messages only to find that it’s nothing important – just pictures of her god-daughter playing with her sisters in a school pageant.

Of course, her god-daughter will one day be Queen of the Netherlands but that’s neither here nor there.

She shoots a quick text back as Killian asks, “So what was that?”

“Just my god-daughter being adorable,” Emma tells him.  She throws her phone on the ground and shifts in his arms, burrowing herself deeper into Killian.  He chuckles, pulls the blankets up over them. 

“She’s your god-daughter,” he remarks, voice still heavy with sleep.  “Of course she’s adorable.  I’m not at all surprised.”

Emma grins, wrapping her arms around his warmth, grateful for this.  She’s glad that they were able to talk through whatever problems they had – glad that they could handle things amicably, because she likes Killian.  _Really_ likes him, if she’s being honest, and there’s a small part of her that likes the fact that he’s from home.   It makes things easier in the long run if she has to introduce him to her parents or bring him to state dinners or –

She laughs at how ridiculous she is being, and he groans, brushing his lips across her forehead.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, nudging his nose against her own. 

“Nothing,” Emma tells him.  “I’m just really happy.”

“Me too,” he says, before his lips claim hers and they don’t talk again for some time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. five

A door slams and Emma wakes suddenly, disoriented. Blinking away sleep, she scans the room, heart pounding because she doesn’t know where she is until her eyes finally focus on the odd assortment of second-hand sofas and armchairs and the comically large flat-screen TV with at least three gaming consoles clustered beneath it.  Oh.  Killian’s living room - and then she focuses Killian himself, seated beside her on the couch, typing away on his laptop.  There is a puddle of drool on his sleeve, and Emma wipes her mouth self-consciously.

"Sorry," she says, glancing at the drool and then up at him.  Killian leans forward to place the laptop on the coffee table, smiling at her and her heart flip-flops.  It always flip-flops around him these days, and she doesn't want that feeling of lightness and joy to ever stop (it’s so different from what she’s used to, so very different than apprehension and dread and doubt and wondering when the paparazzi will appear and when she’ll no longer be safe.  She feels safe with him and happy).

"No big deal," he tells her, opening his arms and Emma snuggles into him, wrapping herself around him, feeling him brush a kiss against her head.  "You're the one that had to wait for me to finish this paper," he adds.

"No big deal," she responds, echoing his previous statement.  "Did you get it submitted?"

"By the buzzer."  His hand strokes her back soothingly, and Emma sighs, contented. 

In the three weeks that they've been together, they've tried to see each other as much as possible and that is why she's here late on a Tuesday night while Killian writes his paper (he did make her dinner, though, if mac and cheese counts as dinner.  It _was_ pretty good).

Emma blames herself for Killian not starting his paper earlier.  She knows she distracts him, and since he's farther along in his coursework, he's got more papers which he doesn't always get to because she just wants to make out pretty much nonstop and really it's his fault for having a face that makes her want to do that.  They're starting to fall into a rhythm, and Emma is happy about that because she likes where this is going, this brand new relationship.

They don't really have a word for what they are - at the very least, they're together, but they're not putting labels on which makes Emma restless yet satisfied; she likes Killian enough that she wants to introduce him to her parents, but this time together without scrutiny from anyone else has been more than she could ask for.  The few times she attempted to get to start something with one of the sons of nobility or parliamentary leaders, the press knew almost immediately and that ruined everything.  This - whatever this is with Killian - is her own, something to be kept private, something to be cherished.

There is movement, a blur of black and silver and plaid, and the sleepy part of Emma’s brain is able to finally explain why a door was slamming to begin with.  Robin walks over to the coffee table and grabs a remote while his girlfriend crosses in front of him (as she does, she brushes her hand across Robin’s back and Emma notes their closeness, their ease with each other – just like her parents - and the thought of how she might be able to have that, one day, with Killian, makes her breath catch in her throat).

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Regina says as she flops into a nearby easy chair.  "Sorry if we woke you."

"That's okay," Emma says, wiping her face against in case there's a lingering drool trail. 

In the weeks that she's been coming over here or meeting Killian at the radio station, she's gotten to know both Robin and his girlfriend well, and the punk rock diva has definitely grown on her.  For all the austere clothing and black eyeliner, Regina is a sweetheart, and incredibly mindful of the fact that Emma is, well, royalty (even if she did call her out on it on her first trip to the apartment and that acknowledgement, surprisingly, made things easier). 

As for Killian's roommate himself - the other man is a giant teddy bear, fiercely protective of Killian and skeptical at first of Emma, but she knows she’s been proving herself slowly; the look of concern Robin gives them when he thinks they’re not looking makes Emma uneasy.  She knows that some royals have reputations as flirts and troublemakers, but she’s not that kind of royal and so she tries to be very kind and thoughtful and polite.

"What time is it?" Emma asks, looking over at the clock on the laptop to find that it's after midnight.   She refrains from cursing under her breath because as much as she wants to stay here, which she's done on several occasions, she has class at eight AM and the thought of having to pry herself out of Killian's arms (and resist his kisses) is all the motivation she needs, because the thought of Graham finding her missing or the threat of a talk from Leroy are becoming less and less effective at curbing her need to be with Killian.

She pushes herself up, running a hand through her hair and looking at him sadly.  "I better go," she says, and he nods, understanding, and she's just really grateful that she met him.  He puts up with all of this crap much better than anyone she's ever met or ever will, probably. 

"Let me get my keys," Killian says, shifting and starting to stand, but Tuesdays are his long day and Emma feels guilty at making him leave his apartment, especially since he looks so tired.

"I can walk," Emma protests at the same time that Regina says, "I can drive her."  When Emma glances over, curious, Regina shrugs.  "I have too much to do this week to stay any later."

"Really now?" Robin asks, watching Regina gracefully rise and cross over to him.

"Really," she says leaning over to kiss her boyfriend, and Emma looks away, embarrassed (it is one thing to appreciate their ease with each other, another to ogle).  Killian raises an eyebrow at the public display of affection, which makes her smile.  He clears his throat, and Emma stifles a giggle.

“You keep doing that and you’re going to want to stay,” he warns Regina, who pushes off of Robin and throws Killian a withering look.  She rolls her eyes and reaches for her purse.  “Coming Emma?” she asks as she struts past the couch, and Emma’s not really sure if this display of swagger is for Robin or for them.

"Okay, yeah,” she says, standing up and reaching for her backpack.   He stands up too, running a hand through his hair, making him look utterly disheveled and handsome and does she really have to leave? (she does, she really does, she's got class early...)

"Lunch tomorrow?" he asks, and she nods, reaching up on tip-toe to press a kiss to his lips.  It's the same feeling, the flip-flopping of her stomach and her drumming of heart, the feeling she always gets when she sees him and it's just so much that she has to pull away, as to physically make herself leave before she doesn't.

"Thanks again," she tells Regina as they walk down the steps and to her car - a black Audi that surprises Emma though the more she thinks about it, she's not really sure what she expected at all (Regina always looks tastefully avant-garde, more McQueen than Hot Topic, and so this shouldn't the shock that it is - what did she think Regina drove, a Honda?). Emma slips into the passenger side seat and Regina starts up the car.  Music blasts from the speakers, discordant but with a strange harmony, and Regina fumbles with the speaker volume, turning it down from her steering wheel.

"Sorry," she remarks as they pull out of the apartment complex, "and it's no problem at all.  Your dorm is on my way home anyway."

They proceed in silence, but then Regina asks, "Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?"

Emma frowns.  They don't celebrate Thanksgiving in her country and they only get a few days off anyway so the plan had been for her to stay here, with Belle and Graham and Leroy.  She will go home for the month between fall and spring semester, and she is already dreading leaving Killian.  She would ask him if he was going and if not, to join her, but he doesn't talk about home much and so she guesses that he might not have much family there (plus, that would bring up a lot of pointed questions from her parents and Leroy and oh god she doesn't want to have to explain to Leroy that she may have a boyfriend because then he'll want to give Killian the once-over and she's not sure she's ready for it...)

She wonders, now, what Killian’s plans are for the holiday.

"No, just staying here," Emma says, and Regina nods, eyes on the road.  Then, after a pause, the other girl says, "You can come home with me if you want.  I've already invited Robin, so I don't mind if you and Killian tag along too - we have more than enough space so you two can go off and be love-struck fools on your own. I live in the city, so it'll give you a different idea of this country besides this dull college town.”  She pauses, and when Emma looks over, there’s a smile on her face.   “And as an added bonus, my parents will be away which is good for you because my mom is a hot social-climbing mess and would recognize you in a heartbeat."

Emma blinks, Regina's offer coming out of left field, but it's something she considers because it's actually rather attractive.  Time away from campus and with Killian (and Regina and Robin, but it's not like she hasn't been spending time with them anyway) makes the thought tempting - really, really tempting.   She’d probably have to bring at least Graham if not Leroy, so Regina’s suggestion about her being a love-struck fool sounds too good to be true, and knowing Emma's luck, it probably is (and how awkward would it be to sneak off with Killian while Graham and Leroy were around?)

But, Emma remembers something her father always says: you’ll never know the answer unless you ask.  Getting out of town and getting off campus, even with Graham and Leroy in tow, would be awesome and she can already hear their objections but -

"Are you sure?" Emma responds.  "Leroy will want to meet with you, do a background check on your family and clear everything.”  She grimaces.  “It’s pretty time-consuming.”  She feels guilty at putting Regina through this – if this even becomes an option – because being friends with royalty is never easy and always invasive (she remembers the background checks run on Ruby and Ariel covertly, not to mention Belle’s interview before becoming her roommate, and doesn’t want to know what they’d do if Killian was to formally enter the picture).

Regina smiles.  "Not a problem.  Talk to your boyfriend for me, mention my offer."

She pulls into the parking lot for the dorm, and Emma gets out.   Regina rolls down the window and calls out, "Just let me know, okay? It'll do you good to get away from campus for a while."

"I'll let you know," Emma responds.  She swipes her prox card at the door, glancing back to see Regina already leaving the parking lot.  She's turned her music back on, and the car's bass booms out across the silent space.

Emma waits until she gets to her room to text Killian and asks if he's interested.  She makes sure to add the caveat that she needs to get approval from Leroy (and probably her parents) before they can plan anything.

He texts back immediately.

**A chance to see Regina's ancestral home? Count me in.**

And then

I **'m not going to say no to time with you either.**

Emma goes to bed with a smile, thinking that they can talk about it more at lunch tomorrow.

...

Killian drums his fingers along the table top, tapping along to the beat the song.  Wednesdays are his easy days, but Emma has a crazy class schedule with a two-hour break and then he's got his radio show and band practice, so catching lunch at the student union is sometimes the only chance he has to see her.  He doesn't mind waiting for her to get out of class - it gives him a chance to put together his playlist for his radio show, laying out a rough plan of tracks that should take him through his two hour shift.

"Hey!" Emma says, sliding into the seat opposite him in this tiny corner that they've claimed as their own in the food court.  He's already picked up food - grilled chicken salad for her, pizza for him, and she pulls her water bottle out of her backpack as she slips the bag under the table.  "Thanks for getting lunch."

Killian pulls the earbuds out of his ears and smiles.  "Of course.  It helps that you're a cheap date."  He winks at her and Emma does that thing that just kills him: she looks up at him through her lashes, head titled to the side, small smile on her face, and he can't help it - he stands up, leans over, and kisses her gently, tracing her jaw with his fingertips.  When he leans back, he admires the faint flush of her cheeks, the way that she seems to struggle with what to say now. 

This woman will be the ruin of him.

As they begin to tuck into their lunches, Emma starts to talk about Regina's Thanksgiving plans.  "Are you sure?" she asks, pouring dressing onto her salad.  "You haven't mentioned any other plans so - "

This plan for Thanksgiving doesn’t sit well with Killian.  He finds it highly unlikely that it will actually happen, because he remembers one time when he was assigned to help with a state visit.  The attention and coordination the security detail put into every movement of the royal family was impressive and he doesn’t doubt that they would put the same focus on Emma going to a large city over a major holiday.  She is the Crown Princess, after all, and even if she’s safe here in this remote college town, she may not be elsewhere.

(He’s actually surprised he hasn’t been stopped by anyone who works for Emma yet, is surprised they haven’t found out about him and asked him questions about his intentions with her.  He’s also relieved, because the chances of someone who works for Emma knowing him is pretty high.  She doesn’t talk about who they are, and he doesn’t ask so he doesn’t know, but it worries him nonetheless.)

But – Thanksgiving. Emma thinks it will happen, and maybe it will, but not in the way that she wants it to (there will be no privacy for them, no time to be alone).  He doesn’t want to push the issue, though, so he plays along for her sake. 

"That's because I had none other than sleeping and catching up on work," Killian tells her, taking a bite of his pizza.  "I'll admit, the desire to spend time with you is a priority, but I'm dying to see Regina's house."

"I know right?" Emma responds with a grin.  "I mean, she's something else, isn't she?"

Killian nods. "I've known Regina for years but I've only really gotten to _know_ her when she started dating Robin. She's like an enigma wrapped up in a mystery."

"She's like an onion - she has layers," Emma chimes in and they both start to laugh at the complexity that is Regina Mills, college radio station general manager and girlfriend of Robin Locksley.

There is a moment, afterwards, when Killian looks at Emma, who is looking back at him, and his heart swells.  Emma is brilliant - the sun burning so bright, lighting his dark days, warming his cold heart (the heart that he thought was frozen so long ago when he lost Liam and Milah).

She is also too much for someone like him, this shining girl, and he is waiting for the day when he is burned.

He reaches out his hand for hers, takes it and turns it over, feeling the softness of her fingers, observing their delicate form (she has never done manual labor, never held a gun, never considered taking a man's life, and he hopes she will never have to worry about any of the things that he has had to worry about, this brilliant princess of his).  "I cannot wait to spend time with you," Killian declares earnestly, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

Emma beams.  "I'll have you all to myself," she tells him. 

Killian grins.  "I am yours to command."  He places his other hand over his heart - an oath, to her.   Emma flutters her eyelashes and when she looks back up, the look on her face is anything but coy.

"You may regret being so ready to pledge your allegiance," she warns him, twisting her hand so that their fingers are entwined.  "I may take you up on that offer."  And when she glances up at him again, she is that girl he met at the party, and Killian swallows, heat rising in his gut.

There have been hours spent in his bedroom kissing, and he has grown bold, testing the limits of what Emma wants (because it is always about her, always about what she wants, and she too is growing bolder with each day, telling him with sighs and words and moans just where he should place his hand and what he should do).   They have not gone much farther than that, because he can still see that there is trepidation in her, and he cannot blame her.  Emma cannot be frivolous with her heart or her affections, and so each moment spent with her, from the ones in his room to the one right here, right now, are moments that he takes with utmost gravity.

"Be careful or I'll convince you to skip your afternoon classes," he teases, and Emma flutters her eyelashes again - the beautiful young princess caught between her desires and her responsibility.  He knows she will not skip, just as he knows he will not press, and so she withdraws her hand with a slight pout.

"Maybe another day," she says, but there is a hopeful note in her voice that makes him nod in agreement (there will be other days, he understands, but her touch lingers well into the afternoon).

...

The first thing that Leroy asks is "And how do you know Regina exactly?” as he looks at Emma over the top of his reading glasses. 

Actually, no, that’s not the first thing he asks.  The first thing he asks is, “Are you out of your mind? That’s a major U.S. holiday, Emma – the city will be packed.  Someone will see you, and I’m worried about your safety.” Then he asks how she knows Regina.

Emma sighs, tucks her legs in closer to her chest, and tries to remember what she and Regina had planned.  After Killian agreed, and she had let Regina know, the other girl made it clear that she was willing to fluff the truth where Emma's handlers were concerned if it meant that Killian would be spared any unnecessary scrutiny. 

_"Why?" Emma had asked when Regina suggested it, certain she had misheard her.  Regina had come over to her dorm room and seeing her sitting on the futon, dressed head-to-toe in black and wearing black boots with gold embellishments, was definitely amusing, but Emma cared more about the way that she seemed sincere in this offer to help._

_"My parents are wealthy," Regina said after a long pause.  "Really wealthy.  They made some good investments early on in a hotel chain and leveled up progressively since then.  We don't know royalty - not like those Holiday Inn people (Regina rolled her eyes at the mere mention) but my mother always aspired to greatness.  And my first boyfriend that I brought home from college was not that."  Regina looked down at her hands, studying the rings on her fingers, the perfectly-manicured nails.  "I know what it's like to have someone you care about analyzed like a bug under a microscope, only to be discarded when it's assumed he_ _’_ _s out of your league.  I like Killian, and I don't think it's fair to him."  She turns her gaze to Emma.  "And you're growing on me, so I guess I want to help you too."_

Regina, luckily, is a Communications Studies major with a penchant for languages so the story they come up with is she works at the Foreign Language Tutoring center (since Leroy has a list of everyone in each of Emma’s classes and a protective streak a mile wide).  It helps that Regina actually does work there, and that Emma has gone in for tutoring.

Emma had given Regina's name and that of her parents - Cora and Henry Mills - to Leroy yesterday, and she knows that he's done a complete background check. As expected, the Mills family checks out favorably – in fact, Leroy already appears to know them when Emma gives their name.

“American nouveau riche,” he tells her with a snort. “Cora Mills was in rehab with one of the Greek royals years ago, if I remember correctly.”  When Emma gives him a strange look, he shrugs his shoulders.  “I eavesdrop to keep you safe, kiddo, and don’t you forget it.”

“I don’t, and I appreciate it,” Emma responds. “Regina said that her parents will be out of town.”

“Things are looking up.”  Leroy makes a note on his iPad.  “See if Regina will come in to talk.”

The interview with Regina is flawless, and allows Emma to see an entirely different side of the other girl.  The Regina with Leroy is charming, every bit the heiress that she apparently is, and she easily wraps Leroy around her little finger in record time while answering all questions correctly.

"Have you asked your mother yet?" Leroy asks, and Emma gets nervous.  She hasn't actually broached the subject with the Queen, and while she doesn't think Mary-Margaret will object, the guilty look on her face answers for her.  Leroy sighs again.

"Call her and ask," he says, "and you can tell her that the Mills family has been cleared, so your friendship with the daughter shouldn't be a problem."

"So you're giving me the go-ahead? Without Graham?" Emma asks.  Leroy cocks his head to the side, folds his hands over his chest.

“Oh no, Graham is going with you.  Even though the Mills family lives in a penthouse with a doorman and restricted access, I’m not content just letting their men watch over you. Graham will go, and so will you – after I speak to building security and after you have a nice chat with the Queen.”

The conversation with Mary-Margaret goes better than expected.  Emma lists all of the benefits of Regina - her family's wealth and prestige, the security within the apartment building.  She can see the frown line grow between her mother's eyebrows, but she smiles and says, "Whatever you wish, Emma."  There is a strand of guilt running through Emma that makes her wonder if this is too impetuous, too rash (but Leroy has checked it out and Graham is going as well), but when she's in Killian's arms that night, snuggling and watching Adventure Time, she can't see anything wrong with it.

"Just the two of us, away from campus," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.  Killian indulges her before pulling back, brushing her hair away from her face with his hand.

"Just the four of us," he reminds her, “ _and_ that security guy you’re bringing,” but Emma doesn't care.  Regina and Robin could be there but all she cares about is Killian.

They have yet to have sex - mostly it's been a lot of making out and sleeping next to each other and Killian has been teaching her many things about what she likes (and while she likes some things more than others she also likes learning what works for him).  She is not inexperienced, but it's obvious that compared to him she’s still a novice.  Considering her first time - a quick and utterly unspectacular moment during the Christmas Festival of Lights which resulted in that stupid asshole Walsh bragging about the moment so much that her parents eventually heard (and her father had to be restrained from punching the douchebag) - Emma is ready and eager and with Killian, things are different.  She cannot get enough of him, of this.

She pulls him back for a kiss, fingers trailing across his back, and she practically moans when his hand reaches for the button of her jeans, sliding beneath her underwear and between her legs, because this isn't like the stupid boys who used to try to grab her boobs and butt and shove their hands down her pants.  This is different, because he always looks to her for permission, because he's gentle and patient and because he's teaching her to do the same with him - to learn him better than she can when she's not confined by class schedules and other obligations, when she can him all to herself for more than a few stolen hours.

Maybe Thanksgiving can be that.

Her back arches when his fingers brush against her, soft and sure, and she gives herself over to him, to his mouth and his touch and everything that he is.

 

...

 

Emma is counting down the days until Thanksgiving with a fervor he's rarely seen, and it's so utterly endearing and more than a bit terrifying to think that she is so eager to spend time with him.  Emma is everything that is too perfect for his world with its fuck-ups and false-starts, and every day that he is with her, he worries that he will ruin her.

The point is driven home one day, in the food court at the union, when he sees a ghost from his past and it stops him in his tracks.

Tall and lanky, looking far older than a student - Killian knows that man, has that confirmed when the man balances his tray on one hand while reaching for a napkin (he used to do that in the mess too and it always infuriated Killian how easy Graham Humbert made everything seem)

There is no doubt in his mind that Graham Humbert must be one of Emma’s security staff.  He was always an outstanding member of the corps, always receiving honors, and even though protecting the future of the nation seems like an admirable calling, Killian had always thought Graham would be tapped to become a leader – a major or general, career military.  He would never have pegged the man for security detail.

(Killian does breathe a sigh of relief because there’s no better shot than Graham, and knowing that this man is protecting Emma makes him feel so much better.  He tries not to think about the reverse, about Graham interrogating him about what he and Emma do on their own, because that makes him feel so much worse.)

Killian ducks his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself, but it is too late –Graham has spotted him.  He is stopped mid-food court, staring at him, tray still balanced on one hand.

“Jones?”

His voice is a startled question, and Killian feels his stomach drop.  When he left, he never told anyone why or what happened.  He had assumed that he would be as good as dead to them in light of all that happened.  He had assumed that he would never see anyone from home again.

(He had assumed wrong.)

Killian knows he cannot escape, and wonders if he actually would.  He did not know Graham well but he knew him enough since they were in the same company.   He turns to meet his former comrade-in-arms.  “Humbert!”he says.  “Fancy seeing you in the States."

“Same,”Graham says, holding out his free hand for Killian to shake.  “You’re a student here, then?”

“Geography,”Killian tells him, and Graham smiles.

“You always were so good with directions –I’m not surprised.”

“And you?”

Graham opens his mouth, uncertain of how to respond, and is saved by the arrival of Emma.  She opens her mouth to greet Graham before she sees Killian, and she stops in her tracks, clearly startled at the two men chatting.  She slows down her walk, approaches Graham who, Killian guesses, mistakes the look on Killian's face for one of shock and surprise at the arrival of the Crown Princess.

"Emma," Graham says, stumbling over her name (Killian can tell he wants to give her a proper salutation, proper title), "this is Killian Jones.  We served in the army together, and he goes here now.  Killian...this is Emma Swan."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Emma says, smile wide and perfect and so very formal (she doesn't miss a beat, his beautiful girl) and Killian extends his arm, shakes her hand. 

He is so happy he told her they came from the same country on their first date.

"I can assure you, Miss Emma, that the pleasure is all mine."  He glances between Emma and Graham for a moment, unsure of what to do, when Emma turns to Graham.

"Let me get my lunch and I'll sit with you two," she tells him, and Graham glances over at Killian, looking only slightly uncomfortable.  For what it's worth, Killian isn't sure how he feels about the assumption that he and Graham are eating together, isn't sure what exactly he will have to say or do. There’s a level of formality and decorum expected of him now that he’s been introduced to the princess, and he’ll have to maintain that or else his too-familiar tone will set off alarm bells with Graham, he knows it.

"I'll find us a table," Graham says, navigating through the crowded food court.  Once his back is turned, Emma shoots Killian a look that makes his blood run cold.  There is nothing but apprehension in her eyes, and he can practically see her retreating behind palace walls.  The look makes him wary, and utterly aware of how innocent Emma is in so many matters like this small omission.

"Old army buddy, huh?" she asks before storming off towards Chik-Fil-A, grabbing a tray in the process.  Killian follows her, watching as she grabs a chicken sandwich and waffle fries and throwing them onto the tray.   He quickly does the same. When they stop for fountain drinks, he leans close and says, "You know I'm older than you - why are you surprised to find that I did my duty for queen and country?" (in all honesty, he is mildly surprised that this is brand new information to her).

Emma lets out a sigh.  "I know," she says, voice soft, shoulders relaxing but only slightly.  "It makes sense.  I just...I don't like it when people keep secrets from me."

"It wasn't exactly a secret, love," he tells her, "I honestly thought you had guessed."  He swallows, uneasy, because there are bigger, darker secrets he's keeping from her and this chance meeting with Graham might propel him to uncover the truth sooner rather than later.

(He probably should do it sooner.  He probably should.)

"Please don't lie to me," she says, looking at him with wide green eyes as she hands the cashier her dining card, “I don’t know what I’d do if you lied to me.” His heart breaks a little so he just nods.

It's not exactly a promise but it feels like one (and he's already broken it).

...

"Please don't lie to me," Emma begs Killian, because there is a part of her that is steadily growing terrified by what he hasn't told her.  First, there was the part where he was from her country.  Now, he knows Graham (she knows it's ridiculous, that he had no clue who her staff is, but knowing Graham means Killian was in the Army and he's never mentioned it, not once).  This isn't lying, but it's a sin of omission and that is not okay with her because lies put her at risk.

Killian just nods as she grabs her food tray, handing his own card to the cashier before taking his own tray.  He looks utterly chastened by her words, and slightly guilty, but he has to know what it's like to be her, to be royalty and to have everyone follow her every move.  So much of her life is beyond her control and yet so much is at stake by her actions here at university.  There is her reputation as well as her safety, not to mention her parents’ trust in her and Leroy’s and Graham’s (she’s been playing them all in an attempt to see Killian and if the single most important person in her life was lying to her…she doesn’t even know what to think).Her heart is racing and her head hurts by the time she sits down at the table with the two men.

Lunch with Killian and Graham is interesting - they discuss people they knew in the regiment, they tell Emma a few stories about basic training.   Emma enjoys seeing this side of Killian, the one that could easily come home with her and talk to her parents - her father was in the military too, after all –but it’s a side he’s been hiding and even if she doesn’t see anything wrong with bringing a solider home as a boyfriend, she’s not sure why he thought to hide it from her.

They clear their trays, and Emma and Graham say goodbye to Killian before walking to class (it kills her that she cannot kiss him, cannot touch him, must remain distant while at the same time she’s almost glad for the reprieve as her emotions churn inside of her).   As they walk, Emma comments, "Killian seems nice."

"Yeah, he's a good guy," Graham says, then adds as an afterthought, "shame about what happened."

Emma feels her blood run cold.  "What happened?" she asks, trying to keep her voice even.

Graham shuffles, looking nervous.  "It's really not my story, your highness -"

"If there is someone here who could pose a threat to my person - "Emma starts, knowing how to get him talking, and it works like a charm.  Graham looks almost affronted at the accusation.

"No, no! Nothing like that," he protests immediately.  He looks guilty, but he keeps talking.  "His brother was killed in action, and that changed him."  Graham remains silent, shuffling along the path to Econ 101.  "Bad times, unfortunately, and he left the army."

The news makes Emma nauseous.  Killian has not mentioned a brother, or the army, or being discharged, and she realizes that there are parts of his past that she doesn't know at all.  Graham seems to like him well enough but the idea of bad times sits uneasily with Emma.  During class, it grows bigger and bigger in her mind as she thinks about what else he’s lied about (being from her country) and what else he could be lying about – he could be working for the press, selling stories about their time together to the highest bidder, or even someone more nefarious (she thinks about Gold, the leader of parliament who seems so shady and so false and so ready to overthrow her parents, and she shivers). 

It bothers her.  It bothers her a lot.

It bothers her so much that when she gets home, she opens up her laptop and runs Google searches for his name to no avail (there are not many people named Killian Jones and none of those she finds are him).  She doesn’t know Killian’s brother’s first name, doesn’t even know what to begin to look for now that her first attempt has gone wrong.  The feeling of dread keeps growing inside of her, growing bigger and more and her fingers are shaking when she puts her computer down with a frustrated groan, only to find Belle standing in the doorway of their room.

“Trouble researching?” Belle asks, and it occurs to Emma that just because she can’t find anything about Killian’s past doesn’t mean that someone else can’t…

“Actually, I could use some help,” she admits.  “What do you know about looking stuff up online?”

Belle beams. “You’d be surprised what I know,” she says, pulling up a chair next to Emma.  “What are we looking up?”

Emma takes a deep breath.  “It’s more like who, actually...”


	6. six

6.  
 **NOW**  
Robin Locksley is a simple man with simple needs: good beer, good music, and a good woman, and right now all of those needs are being met.

  
He reaches for his phone, skips forward to the next track. The soothing guitars of Fleet Foxes starts to flood the living room and he leans back, closes his eyes.

  
“I was enjoying that last one,” Regina chides, sinking down onto the couch next to him. “Why change it?” She holds out a beer with a smile, and he takes it from her, bringing the bottle up to his lips to take a sip.

  
“Felt like it,” he tells her, and Regina shakes her head. She throws her legs over his and he pulls her closer, pressing a kiss into the corner of her mouth. She angles her head, hold her own beer out towards him.

  
“To the sexiest future high school agriculture teacher I know,” Regina tells him. “Congrats on finally getting that major changed. What is this, your fifth?” she teases him, and he loves her for it.

  
“Sixth,” he corrects her, taking another sip of his beer and running his hand up and down the length of her thigh. “I can’t help it – I think I like kids,” he tells her, pleased by the smile that she gives him in response (he sometimes thinks about a future, including about children, with Regina – children with big brown eyes and curly brown hair - )

  
Robin has known Regina since both were freshmen stumbling into the college radio station, clueless and eager for their own shows. They were trained together, they may have hooked up sometime around the end of that year (even though he was scared shitless of her back then – her hair was dark purple and she wore combat boots instead of heels) but it took another two years and both of them being on the radio station’s board of directors for the acquaintance-ship to become a friendship to become a relationship. He can’t remember a time before her; she’s become such an important part of his life and he wouldn’t trade her for all the beer in England.

  
His thoughts drift to Killian. He wants his friend to be happy more than anything else, but the entire situation with Emma doesn’t sit right with him (seriously, how can a man who fled his country because he fought against the machine be hooking up with the person who symbolizes all that he despises? Or maybe he just likes to rant against the government when he’s drunk, like most college students. Complicated man, his roommate).

  
The door opens and then slams shut, and Regina looks over, surprised. Robin watches her, calling out to Killian, “Grab a beer and join us – I just changed majors again!” but Regina is looking towards the kitchen strangely, a frown forming on her face and that worries him. He scoots himself up, looking over the sofa cushions, to find Killian searching through the kitchen cabinets.

  
“What are you looking for?” he calls out as Regina slips off his lap. Killian ducks down to root through the lower cabinets, and finally there is a cry of victory (a bitter one, full of pain and Regina is looking at Robin like he should have an idea about what is going on and oh _fuck_ –)

  
Killian holds the rum bottle aloft as he stands up. He is drenched - it must have started to rain since they got home – but that doesn’t seem to bother him as he points the bottle towards Robin.

  
“Cheers, mate,” Killian says, as he takes a swig of rum. His face twists into a grimace, and Robin hesitates. He knows what’s coming next, and he’s dreading it.

  
“Cheers to what?” Regina asks before Robin can say anything and he wants to tell her to be quiet, to let Killian drink until he passes out, but she insists.

  
Killian slams the bottle of rum down on the countertop. “I told Emma everything, and she told me to go.”

  
Regina scrambles off the couch and is immediately in the kitchen fluttering around Killian, and Robin can hear bits and pieces of the conversation as he slumps back onto the couch cushions with a sigh – things like “What do you mean by ‘everything’?” and “Oh my god, you’re soaking wet – go in and change right now.” (Robin hears a muffled ‘yes mum’ from Killian before Regina’s huffing drowns it out).

  
“What’s going on?” Regina turns back to him and asks, hands on her hips next to the couch. “What’s going on with Killian and Emma?”

  
Robin rests his head on the back cushion, glancing up at his girlfriend. “It’s a long story – “

  
“Don’t tell me it’s not your story – I’m not in the mood for some bro-code bullshit. I endured a ridiculous interview last week with Emma’s handlers – I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into.” Regina is starting to build herself up into a frenzy, but before Robin can even begin to calm her down Killian has emerged, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, wet hair curling against his forehead as it dries. The bottle of rum is in his hands and he takes a long drink from it before setting it on the coffee table.

  
“You’re right,” he tells her, sinking into the armchair across from Robin. “You have every right to know what I dragged you all into – what I dragged Emma into – though I don’t think Thanksgiving matters much anymore.”

  
Regina turns to look at Killian, who looks absolutely miserable, and back at Robin before rolling her eyes. “I’m ordering pizza,” she says, heading back into the kitchen.

  
Robin leans forward. “So what happened, exactly?” He might not like this situation with Emma, but he likes Killian, and this is not Killian going on a bender because it’s the anniversary of his brother’s death, or Killian having dreams about Milah. This is not the past, but very much the present, and if Robin can do something to ease his mate’s troubled mind, he will do it.

  
Killian shrugs, and Robin can see the hurt in his eyes. He’s trying to act like it doesn’t matter but it’s obvious by the excessive wideness of his smile and the way that he holds himself. “I did what you said. I decided to try to live out my brother’s motto.”

  
“I take it that didn’t go too well, did it?” Robin asks, already knowing the answer. Killian shakes his head.

  


“No, mate, it did not.”  


…  
 **THEN**

  
Killian frowns at his phone.  


“What’s wrong?” Robin asks, walking by him on his way into the kitchen. Killian leans back against the wall.  


“Nothing just – I thought Emma and I were going to grab lunch.” He pauses, and Robin jumps in.  


“But?” Robin riffles through the cabinet, looking for cereal, completely unconcerned about any of this. Killian can’t blame him. It sounds like a simple mistake.  


He shakes his head. There’s a weird feeling in his gut that he’s not sure he can communicate, not in any way that makes sense – just instinctual, like animals sensing a storm still hours away. He can feel something coming, something bad. “But I just texted her to see what she wanted to eat and she told me that she was going out with her roommates.”  


Killian pulls up his calendar app, double-checks – yep, Sunday, they had plans. The habit of meeting for lunch on Sunday was the first established when they started seeing each other, since the college dining halls only served two meals that day and Emma liked to sleep in past breakfast. It was Emma who took his phone and put Lunch with EMMA  <3 as an appointment every Sunday until the end of time (not that it mattered, he would always choose her over everything else).  


“Maybe you just forgot? You’ve been busy with the band and school,” Robin points out, pulling a gallon of milk out of the fridge. Killian watches as he fills a cereal bowl, holding the cereal box up and shaking it. “Cocoa Pebbles?” his roommate asks.  


Killian shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he says, because there is a feeling of dread slowly building inside of him. He hasn’t told Robin that this is the second date this week that Emma has canceled (because that’s what it is, right? This is totally a cancellation). That, coupled with seeing Graham in the food court last week, is making him feel uneasy, like people are talking about him behind his back (and for all he knows, they very well might be since there is much to talk about).  


Robin takes a bite of his cereal. “Maybe her roommates complained that she was always over here,” he offers. “You know how girls get.” But Killian can’t buy that answer any more than he can buy Emma’s excuse for Friday night, which was that she ‘just forgot’ and made other plans with Belle.  


Something is up. He knows it.  


“Did I tell you I ran into an old army buddy last week?” Killian asks, pulling up a stool and sitting at the counter. Robin chews and swallows, putting his cereal bowl down.  


“You didn’t.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the stove. “What, pray tell, might an army buddy from that backwater European country you call home be doing here?”  


Killian places his phone on the counter, spins it around. “He’s part of Emma’s security team.”  


“Oh.” Robin doesn’t sound too impressed by this information.  


Killian takes a deep breath. “He knew me at the time my brother died.”  


“Oh.” Killian looks up to see Robin staring at him with a concerned look on his face. “Do you think he told – “  


“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Killian admits. He wipes his hand across his eyes, sighing. “I don’t think Graham would do it intentionally, but he always had the worst poker face and I’m afraid with Emma…”  


He’s afraid that someone else is telling Emma about one of the worst times in his life, when he was a drunken mess shouting obscenities at his superior officers and rattling off conspiracy theories to anyone who would listen. He’s afraid that if she hears it from someone other than him, that she won’t be happy and she certainly won’t forgive his lies and he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.  


He’s been with Emma long enough to know that honesty is what she cares about most, and with good reason; he’s read the tabloids, seen the way that someone in Emma’s position can get dragged through the press, and any affiliation with him could be harmful to her and her reputation. Not to mention, of course, that she’ll never trust him again (his palms are sweaty as the fear grows and he can almost feel everything slipping through his fingers).  


Robin presses his lips into a line, and Killian knows his roommate well enough to anticipate the next comment. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten involved with her, Killian. She’s the Crown Princess – “  


“Don’t you think I know that?” The anger and frustration building up inside of him since Friday bursts out of his mouth, and Killian doesn’t feel sorry about it being directed at Robin. Robin has always made his concern known (albeit quietly) but this is not what he needs, not right now. “Don’t you think I’ve been well aware of that since the moment she told me who she was? Don’t you think I feel guilty for even being near her with all that I’ve done?” His voice cracks and he buries his head in his hands. “I should have said goodbye to her that night - it should never have come to this.”  


This being that he loves her, or he thinks he does.  


Killian’s been in love before, with Milah, but this is different. Milah was different – harsh edges and brutal honesty in the way that Emma is soft smiles and eager kisses. It’s different, too, in how he feels (and how he felt) with them. With Milah, he was broken and battered, but while she made him a man, she did not force his hand or his decisions; he was already lost when he met her and so he tumbled down with her into a pit of despair. With Emma, it feels like he has found himself again - found the person that Liam knew and loved, not the wreck that was left behind, and he wants that so badly that he can taste it. He wants her, because he does – because she gets him in a way he feels very few do. Every day away from Emma is like the loss of a limb, she’s so much a part of him now, and has become such in their short time together.  


Robin clears his throat. “You know I’m here for you, Killian, I really am, and I’m sorry for not being a member of Team Emma.”  


“You were right not to be,” Killian says softly. “She’s royalty – “  


“That’s not the reason,” Robin protests. “I don’t give a crap about Emma’s title. She’s just another girl that’s come into your life since I’ve known you. The only difference is that you have to actually tell this one the dark secrets of your past that haunt you at night, and you have to be man enough to accept that they may be too dark for someone like her. And I don’t want to see you lose the only person to make you genuinely happy in the entire time I’ve know you.” Robin sighs. “Sorry, but I’ll always be Team Killian.”  
“You’re right,” Killian agrees miserably. “I appreciate the support, mate.”  


The knowledge that he may very well never see her again because of he was too much of a coward to tell her his dark history drives him mad. He knows that he’s not perfect, and neither is she – too young, too idealistic, and too trusting and yet too wary all at once – but she makes him want to be a better person. She makes him feel like he is alive for the first time in years, and that was more than he deserved.  


“I may regret saying this, but what’s that saying of your brother’s that you quote all the time?”  


Killian laughs, sharp and angry. “A man who doesn’t fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.” It’s tattooed on his chest, above his heart, staring him in the face each morning and each night as a constant reminder that Liam would not give up (he didn’t, not even at the very end).  


“That. If you want to fix whatever this is with Emma, and I’m pretty sure you do, you’re going to need to figure out what’s going on with her. And if you can’t talk to her, you know who you can talk to.”  


Killian looks up from his hands, a weak grin forming on his lips. “For someone who smells like forest, you’re pretty astute at times.”  


Robin shrugs, reaching for his bowl of cereal. “So they say,” he responds. “Carry on, my wayward son.” He leaves the kitchen, heading for his own bedroom and closing the door behind him.  


Killian reaches for his phone, searching for the campus directory and the email address of the one person who might be able to shed some light on this situation.  
He sends Graham an email inviting him to meet for coffee.  


…  
NOW  


“So you set up a meeting with Graham,” Robin says, repeating back the story that Killian’s telling him as his roommate proceeds to take care of the bottle of rum inch by inch. Killian nods, and the doorbells rings.  


“That will be the pizza,” Regina says to no one in particular, patting Robin’s shoulder as she stands up to get the door. Robin takes a sip of his beer, watching Killian. Tension radiates off Killian in waves as he sits, leaning forward, shoulders hunched. Robin’s never had anything in his life equivalent to what haunts Killian, but he knows what it’s like to feel beaten down and Killian looks like he’s gone a few rounds in the ring of life right now, so to speak.  


“Yeah,” Killian says. “I did.”  


“And did you get answers?” Robin asks, even though he knows what the answer has to be.  


Killian nods, looking up at him mournfully. “I got more than I bargained for.”  


The door slams (Jesus they’re loud in this house) and Regina’s back, throwing a pizza box and a couple paper plates onto the coffee table. She opens it, pulls out a slice of pizza, and takes a bite.  


“So you met with this Graham guy and…” she says between cheesy mouthfuls, clearly engaged and ready for Killian to continue his tale (Robin, however, is not so sure he wants to know – not with how wretched his mate looks right now).  


Killian takes deep breath, and proceeds.  


…  


THEN  
The coffee shop they meet at is not crowded this late at night, and because it’s a bit more obscure, Killian hopes that the conversation he intends to have with Graham will be that more private. He’s already waiting with an Americano when Graham arrives. The other man approaches the small table in the corner of the room, shucking his coat and putting it on the chair across from Killian.  


They shake hands, and Graham says, “Let me just grab something to drink – “  


Killian nods, taking a sip of his own beverage. He can feel anticipating building in his stomach and he doesn’t know if this is such a good idea anymore. Maybe he should have just let it go, lived with the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Emma had pretty much expressed her lack of interest in seeing him, but Robin’s point, and Liam’s words, echo in his mind.  


A man who doesn’t fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.  


Graham returns with tea, and they make small talk for some time. They discuss the university football team, the facilities at the recreation center, how the food at the dining halls is way better than anything they ate in the army. And then Killian starts to turn the conversation towards the questions he wants answered.  


“I was surprised to find you on princess duty,” he says, watching as Graham plays with his cup, turning the handle back and forth. “I thought you would have been Captain by now.”  


“Yeah, well, about that,” Graham says, staring down at the tea. He clears his throat. “You remember what the army was like when you left.”  


Killian does. “I remember,” he says, lifting his spoon and stirring the dregs of his coffee. By the time he left, that’s when the first bribes starting coming in from Gold – bribes to keep the army in his pocket, starting with the senior officers (and those that didn’t accept the bribes, that claimed honor over money, were quickly dispatched of – or so Killian believes).  


(His brother was one of those men.)  


“I’m not surprised.” Killian glances up at Graham. “You turned down good money.”  


“It was the right thing to do,” Graham says, taking a sip of his tea. “I’ll serve my Queen and country on my terms.”  


There’s something about the way that he looks off into space, the way that his jaw clenches and his gaze hardens, that makes things click together in his head, and make the apprehensions he’s had about Emma and her security staff (how can so few guard something so precious?) fall into place.  


“Why is the princess really here, Graham?” Killian asks. There are plenty of colleges back home, including a university with an outstanding reputation, and lots of nearby institutions of higher education. Any of the other European countries would be perfectly acceptable and yet Emma is here, in America, thousands of miles from home, at a prestigious state school but a state school nonetheless, in a mostly rural setting, taking classes on international relations. He’s never thought about it much, but he’s always assumed it was some whim of hers.  


Now he’s wondering if it’s not more than that.  


“Because it’s the safest place for her,” Graham admits. “Because it’s not about if Cassidy will stage a coup but when he will. If she’s here, in another country, then if something happens to the Queen – “  


“Emma may still be safe,” Killian says. “She can be granted asylum.” He lets out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding, thinking about any harm coming to Emma. “Does she know?”  


Graham sighs. “She thinks this is an opportunity for her to be young and free before assuming the duties inherent with her position.” He takes a sip from his tea, places it on the table. He folds his hands flat against the wood, then looks up at Killian. “We know about you and Emma.”  
Killian feels his stomach drop, his heart begin to race. He’s not surprised – he shouldn’t be surprised, there’s far more going on here than even Emma knows – but the fact that they know about him makes him nervous, makes him sweat. “Do you now?”  


“We’ve known since the moment Emma told her roommate Belle about you.” Graham’s mouth twitches upward in a not-quite smile. “Belle is a member of special forces, assigned to be Emma’s bodyguard.”  


Killian remembers the small girl with the blue eyes and brown hair and how quiet she was – how she just observed. Of course they’d have someone else – that makes complete utter and total sense (suddenly what he just assumed was some half-baked operation has a lot more credibility in his eyes because why would you not have someone on the inside, someone close to the princess? )  


“Emma doesn’t know that you know about…us,” Killian points out, thinking about her excitement about having this secret (not a secret anymore). “Why hide that from her? Why let me be anywhere near her?”  


“Leroy wasn’t too happy about it, but I trust you,” Graham tells him. “Because there’s no one else I would rather have protect the princess when I can’t.” He pauses, looks down at his tea. “Killian, I don’t think what happened to Liam was an accident, and I think you were right to pursue it like you did. I don’t know if I would have been so brave if I was in your shoes.”  


Killian laughs. “I’m not entirely sure that my bravery was worth it in the end.” His pursuit of the truth cost him Milah, cost him his home, and nearly cost him his own life. It’s given him some great things – like his time here, his friendship with Robin – that would have been impossible if he stayed home, but the cost…  


(There is a part of him that rebels, reminds him that he’s here and he’s met Emma because of it, that he’s been doing her a service by protecting her even if he hasn’t realized it, that he’s been keeping her safe, and he remembers that parade, and Liam, and watching the royal family. That part is glad that everything happened the way it did.)  
“That being said, I know you care about her and I know she’s safe when she’s with you -maybe even safer than she is with us.”  


“I don’t carry,” Killian points out, but Graham merely smiles.  


“I remember a shiner I had for a week after hand-to-hand combat training,” he says with a grin. “You’re good in a fight, Killian Jones, and you’re the sort of man who will fight for what he wants.”  


Killian leans back in his chair, those damn words coming back to haunt him. “Yeah, well, what I want is to know why Emma’s not returning my texts.”  


Graham looks at him sheepishly. “That’s my fault. I may have let it slip about your brother. I know for certain that she asked Belle to help her look him up. I’m not sure what Belle found of her – it’s not like we don’t already have a dossier on you.” The other man looks guilty – beyond guilt, and Killian can’t blame him. But his brother is the least of his sins, and he sighs. If they have a dossier, then they know everything, and they still allowed Emma to be with him (because you’re a trained solider, he thinks, but he knows it’s not just that. It’s keeping up the illusion that this university jaunt is just for fun – that there isn’t real trouble back home.).  


“That explains it, then,” he admits. “You may trust me, but she doesn’t. I didn’t tell her about Liam, Graham. I didn’t tell her about anything that happened after he died.”  
There’s a lot that can be found in that dossier about Killian’s time when he left the army, when he met Milah, and when he lost her. There’s a lot that he hasn’t told anyone save Robin, and that was when he was piss-drunk and angry, and telling Emma – not when things are so new, not when they still are figuring things out – would be the worst for both of them: for Killian, because she may no longer trust him, and for Emma, to know that someone hasn’t been honest with her.  


But the more he doesn’t tell her, the more he ends up pushing her away. He can see it in her, even if she doesn’t know it – the need to keep herself safe, to keep herself whole. She’s the future of their country (not if Gold has anything to do with it) – she cannot afford to let others in if they’re liabilities.  


Killian is more than a liability, and she needs to know that.  


(He did a Google search after he met her, just to see what the newspapers back home were saying, and it was one ridiculous tabloid story about a boyfriend after another – none of the relationships lasting too long and all of the details far more lurid than Emma herself. It breaks Killian’s heart to think that Emma might believe he is just another one of those men to use her for her title and her status. He’s not. He loves her for who she is, and how she makes him feel, and he needs her to know that – just once – even if she pushes him away.)  


Graham sighs. “What do you need me to do?”  


“Do?” He’s surprised by what seems to be a genuine offer to help.  


“I shouldn’t have said anything – it wasn’t my place. I need to make it right.” Graham drums on the table. “She misses you, but she won’t say anything. She’s pretending that she’s busy with other things – the girls are distracting her – but there’s something off.”  


The thought that Emma might miss him – might care for him – makes Killian’s heart stop, and he knows that this is may be his last chance to see her.  


“You realize that once I tell her everything that’s in my dossier, she won’t want to see me again,” Killian points out. Graham shrugs.  


“That will be her choice to make, but at the very least I can give you the chance to tell your side. Emma comes for check-ins at four in the afternoon. My room is room 311 – you don’t need a prox card before 8pm. Try to get there by 3:30, in case she decides she wants to stop by early.”  


They both take a moment to stare at their tea, and then Killian says, “Thanks, mate. For doing this.”  


Graham shrugs. “My duty is to queen and country, and if making the princess happy is part of it, then I will endeavor to try my best.”  
Killian throws a sugar packet at him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, but it has its intended effect of breaking the grave mood that seems to hover over the table, trapping them both. Killian sits back in his chair, grinning, realizing something. “So do I have a code-name?” he asks.  


Graham frowns. “Code-name?”  


“Like you must have for Emma. When she’s with me, what’s my code-name? Please tell me it’s something dashing like James Bond.” Killian grins at Graham, whose smile changes into something else entirely. He raises his eyebrows and looks amused, and that does not bode well.  


“We do, actually,” he says, and there’s a look in his eye that’s familiar. Shit. Now Killian doesn’t want to know. “She’s Duckling, and you’re Meerkat.”  


“I’m what?” Killian asks, taken aback. Meerkat?  


“Meerkat. You know, because you sort of look like one and you’re a bit scrappy in a fight and – “ Graham starts to laugh, and Killian shakes his head sadly.  


“Forget I asked,” he says, but there’s laugher bubbling up in his belly and it’s a welcome change from all the doom and gloom of this past hour. “Besides, I’m not scrappy.”  


“You’re smaller than me,” Graham points out, and they relax into banter before parting for the night. As Killian walks home, there’s a smile on his face from the conversation but dread in his veins. Tomorrow is judgment day, and he’s not sure he’s ready.  


…  


NOW  
Regina snorts. “Meerkat. Love it.”  


Killian slumps back into the chair, bottle of rum dangling from his fingertips. “Ain’t no bloody meerkat, Regina,” he protests.  


From beside the couch, Regina’s phone vibrates inside her purse but she shrugs. “I’ll get that later,” she says when Robin looks at her. “You, Mister Lonely Hearts over there, you need to get some pizza in you.”  


“So I can throw it up later?” Killian asks. Regina stands, crosses the room, and puts a piece of pizza on a plate.  


“Exactly,” she says, holding the floppy paper plate out to him. “Don’t make me force feed it to you.” Killian sighs and reaches for it. He takes a couple bites as Regina returns to her seat beside Robin, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her knee.  


“Okay, so let me get this straight,” she starts. “Emma is here because if her family is overthrown, she can seek asylum.”  


“Correct,” Killian says between bites.  


“Her security teams knows you’re dating.”  


“Correct.”  


“But you went off the rails when your brother died and somehow this going off the rails is still haunting you until this very day.”  


Robin sighs. “It’s not the act of going off the rails but rather what he did when he went off them, love,” he tells Regina, resting a hand on hers. “It’s a long story – “  
“I’ve already told it once today – may as well tell it again,” Killian says with a sigh. He puts the bottle of rum down and takes a deep breath. His eyes are drooping in the corners so Robin knows he’s already drunk, but he starts anyway.  


“Our country is small, so military service is mandatory,” Killian begins. “I went willingly, because my older brother stayed in the military and I idolized everything that Liam did. But when I started my military service, I did so with a head full of idealistic notions about what it meant to serve.”  


Robin has heard this story once – after he first met Killian, when the man was still recovering from everything that happened to him. He watches Killian as he tells about his time in the army, his face lighting up when he talks about Liam and darkening when he details the beginning of the bribes from someone he calls ‘Mr. Gold’ – a nickname, Robin knows, for the prime minister.  


He listens as Killian tells Regina about the massacre in the Enchanted Forest (he read the Wikipedia article about the skirmish in the disputed territory, the peace treaty that it curtailed, the ramifications it had for Queen Mary-Margaret and her government). Killian’s story doesn’t talk about that, and Robin plans to fill in Regina later.  


“I didn’t seem right, for Liam to die,” Killian says, looking down at the floor. “Nothing about the skirmish made sense. So I did some digging.”  


Some digging meant, in short: drinking, insubordination, spending too much time on the internet reading conspiracy theories and conversing with anarchists, all which led to dishonorable discharge papers. And this is where Killian pauses in the story, reaches for the bottle of rum, and takes a sip.  


“And that’s when I met Milah.”  


“Who’s Milah?” Regina asks. Her phone buzzes again, and she continues to ignore it, choosing to entwine her fingers with Robin.  


“Milah Cassidy, long-estranged wife to the prime minister and font of knowledge,” Killian says. “She tracked me down through my internet discussion board posts, said she could help me uncover all of Gold’s treachery and lies, bring him to justice.” Killian smiles bitterly at the memory. “We started to work together to bring down Gold – and we became lovers.”  


Robin rolls his eyes at Killian’s lack of elaboration – from what he’s heard, it was more like he joined a militant anarchist group hell-bent on bringing down the government and banged the hot leader - but Regina leans forward, no doubt enraptured by the scandalous news. “So you were actively resisting against Emma’s family?”  


“NO!” Killian exclaims, rising out of his chair with a slight wobble, the alcohol clearly affecting him. “Never the royal family – never them. I love my country, and I loved my Queen and I love her daughter more than life itself. It was never them – it was the corrupt bureaucracy, the corrupt military. The Queen has nothing to do with my hate,” Killian asserts, and Regina holds up her hands.  


“Sorry, I just needed clarification,” she says, and Killian’s face falls.  


“I need to pee,” he tells them, walking past both of them and heading for the bathroom. Regina turns to Robin.  


“Love?” she whispers, and Robin nods, feeling anxious. If Killian loves Emma – and of course he does, Killian puts his heart into everything from his radio show to his band to his studies, of course he loves Emma – then Robin can’t even imagine what he’s feeling right now. Poor wretch. Poor, ridiculous, love-sick wretch. He feels a momentary flare of anger at Emma for making Killian feel this way but it subsides, quickly, because he knows it’s as much Killian’s fault as Emma’s.  


(He’ll always been Team Killian before he is anything else.)  


...  


THEN  


Killian arrives at Graham’s room at three, which is way too early but he’d been pacing around the apartment after his own classes were over and driving Robin crazy. Luckily, Graham seems to expect this. He gives him a Coke, and a copy of the dossier they’ve assembled.  


It’s strange, to look over research about himself and his life. The facts are mostly correct – they indicate that he had a mother who died young, a father who skipped out, a brother killed in the Enchanted Forest five years ago. There’s his connection to Milah Cassidy, estranged wife of the prime minister, and some assumptions about the nature of their relationship (most of them true, some of them not). It’s thorough research, including the information about his time here and his known associates (including Regina and Robin).  


“So when Emma brought up going to Regina’s for Thanksgiving…?” Killian asks.  


“We knew that you would be going as well.” He hands Graham back the story of his life (five pages long, single spaced, with pictures).  


“She really wanted to go,” Killian remarks.  


“Who says she still doesn’t?” Graham asks, and Killian shrugs.  


“I guess we’ll know after today.”  


There’s a knock on the door – two sharp raps, and three softer ones – and Graham goes to answer it. When the door open it’s Emma, and Killian has never seen anything so glorious (he did not realize how greatly he missed her, how looking at her just in this instance fills his soul with renewed hope, and when their eyes meet, he has faith that she will listen to him, will hear him out and be merciful just like her mother was all those years ago).  


Emma’s mouth opens and closes and he can see a look of panic – she is a skittish animal, ready to run at the first sign of danger – but Graham ushers her into the room.  
“The other day I told you something about Killian – something that wasn’t mine to tell,” Graham says. “We already know that you two are involved, and I know what I told you hurt you. This is my chance to make amends.” Graham turns, looks at Killian, and then walks out the door, closing it behind him.  


Emma turns, mouth still open, and then she closes it. “Did you know…?”  


“I found out last night,” Killian says. His fingers twitch with the need to touch her – to feel her, to know that she’s real – but he keeps them in front of him. He will not touch her unless she wants him to. “You weren’t answering my texts. I was nervous that Graham might have said something…” he swallows, “about Liam. And my descent into madness.”  


Emma says nothing, and Killian takes a deep breath.  


…  


NOW  
“And what happened to Milah?”  


Killian’s smile curls downward, and his lip quivers. “Gold killed her in front of me.” There’s a moment of clarity in his eyes when Regina gasps. “Oh god, Emma – and her mother – “  


“Tell her the rest, Killian,” Robin says, trying to take his friend’s mind off of the problems of this evening. “Tell her what Gold told you.”  


Killian swallows, and looks Robin straight in the eye. “He threatened to kill me if I stayed in the country. He told me I’d lose a limb if I ever came back. And I ran – I ran away, and I never looked back.” Killian takes another swig of rum. “Until I met her – until I met Emma.”  


The phone vibrates in Regina’s purse yet again, and Regina sighs. “Let me just check it – if it’s the station – “she apologizes, reaching for her bag, and Robin turns to his roommate (who is clearly on his way to losing his own mind as he keeps thinking about Emma, and Robin knows Killian – this conversation needs to end, and quickly).  


“So she kicked you out, then?” he asks. “Did she say anything about your confession?”  


Killian shakes his head. “She just asked me to leave – “ and Robin can see the tears in his eyes, hears the desperation tainting each word he speaks, and he feels so sorry for Killian, that he should have to endure this.  


“Shit.” Regina’s got her phone out, and is scrolling through it.  


“Station?” Robin asks.  


Regina looks up at him, eyes wide and mouth drawn. “Emma.”


	7. seven

**NOW**

Regina sighs, scanning the grocery stores selection of wine, trying to figure out what a princess might drink.  The part of her that’s her mother’s daughter keeps saying _go expensive_  but the part of her that’s practical thinks that any nineteen year old girl can’t tell the difference between Stag’s Leap and Barefoot regardless if she’s royalty or not.

She picks up a bottle of merlot because a basic merlot always works, before turning away then back again, throwing another, more expensive white blend in for good measure (who knows? Maybe Emma will surprise her again.  She already surprised her by calling in the first place.  Doesn’t she have girlfriends who live in her dorm who can throw on _Dirty Dancing_ and let her cry it out??)

 She shifts her grocery basket into her right hand and heads for the potato chips, grateful for Daddy’s Amex in her wallet.

Regina isn’t shocked easily – growing up with her mother conditioned that right out of her – but everything that’s happened tonight has rattled her nerves and makes her want more than the wine: a shot of whiskey, a cigarette, and a good fuck, in that order, would be sufficient.  And that’s what her night would have entailed, celebrating with Robin and tumbling into bed together, just on that edge of tipsy where no one has ever been a better lover and no sex has ever been better.  But instead, she’s going to have to make do with not one but two sob stories, Skinny Pop, and a moody princess.

It’s Regina’s own fault for picking up the phone, but Emma sounded so desperate and it just hit too close to home, the sound of her voice panicked and pleading for Regina to come and get her, _I don’t feel okay here_ (Regina remembers feeling the same way once, feeling like she couldn’t stay in her parent’s house any longer because she didn’t feel okay but there was no one to take her away then, no one to make her feel okay after Daniel, and this – Regina can be better.  She can do better than let a nineteen year old girl continue to feel lost and alone). 

And so she’s trying, leaving Robin to handle Killian and rolling up to the parking lot of Emma’s dorm still trying to process the events of the past hour (Killian as an anarchist is a new and slightly sexy image that she’s actually okay with) and when she lowered the window and told Emma to get in and that they were going to get junk food, she pretty much cemented her plans for the rest of the evening.

When Regina rounds the corner to the frozen food aisle, where she deposited Emma not five minutes before, the girl is still zoned out, staring into the freezer case.  Her steps slow down when Emma turns to look at her because Regina knows that look of utter and total devastation, has been there before, and so she smiles weakly at the princess and pushes back the memories that linger in the corners of her vision.

“Ready?” she asks, and Emma nods.  “Yeah - sorry.  I just made up my mind.”   She opens the door and pulls out two cartons which she clutches to her chest nervously.  Regina knows that the girl hasn’t made up her mind at all, that she’s grabbing for whatever cartons are within reach, but she just nods.

“No apologies necessary,” Regina says as they start up the aisle.  “I’m going to go to the cashier – use self-checkout and I’ll meet you up front.”  When Emma looks confused, Regina adds, “because they’ll card you otherwise.  They card the whole party, savages in this college town.” 

She watches Emma head to the self-checkout while she does the same - she’s bought enough booze for underage DJs that she’s learned this game pretty well, but she still keeps an eye on the other girl because she feels responsible for her in a way she never did before. The look on Emma’s face when she arrived at the dorm is still burned in her brain, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever forget how utterly stricken she had looked and how much it reminded her of her own face when she retreated to her room and slammed the door - mascara smeared, eyes red, completed devastated and completely alone. 

It’s not until they’re both in Regina’s car that she even broaches the topic of why they’re buying junk food at 6pm on a Tuesday.  As usual, it comes out harsher than Regina means it to sound (there’s rough edges around Regina that even Robin’s love can’t completely get rid of, edges created when Daniel broke her all those years ago).

 “Just so you know, princess, I’m giving up quality time with my boyfriend to help you deal with yours,” she says, pulling out of the store parking lot.   She glances over to see that Emma is reacting to her words by wrapping her arms tighter around herself, becoming smaller (if that’s even possible – she’s a wisp of a thing to begin with).

“Killian’s not my boyfriend,” she protests angrily, but Regina simply shrugs, trying to shake the feeling that she’s just helping Emma build more walls.

“Call it what you will, but I spent over an hour losing my buzz and listening to his side of the story.  At some point tonight, you’re going to need to tell me your side.”  Regina sighs, struggling to find the right words.  “Think of it as payment for this rescue because trust me, I am _not_ a hero.”

She can hear Emma’s deep inhale and slow exhale – did she seriously not think that Regina was going to inquire as to why Emma asked her to pick her up?  Did Emma really think that a frantic, sobbing phone call was going to result in everything being ignored?  Maybe that’s how they do it in Emma’s family, the polite lies, but Regina’s family always revels in rubbing salt in open wounds -not that she’s trying to do that, but she needs to know both sides so she can sort out her own complicated thoughts (she can still hear Cora saying _do you really think I’d let you marry that boy? do you really think that boy was good enough?_ like it was yesterday and not years ago).

Regina’s known Killian since Robin brought him to a station pizza/recruitment party two years ago.  He signed up to become a DJ that night and his show isn’t bad – a little too heavy on mopey lofi singer-songwriters for Regina’s tastes – but he always made his shifts, never needed a sub.   He is reliable, and overall very nice, albeit slightly quiet, and she’s asked Robin on more than one occasion what’s his deal.

“Everyone has their story, Regina,” he would tell her, “and it’s up to them to let us read it.”

“Don’t give me your stoner platitudes – give me the details,” she would be him, but he would distract her with his kisses and his hands (and that man has _very_ talented hands), and she would let it go.

As it turns out, Killian’s story is nothing that she would have thought it _could_ be – she figured something like he was secretly a pyro or a trust fund kid slumming it at State U.  But then again, as Regina is realizing, nothing is as it could be, because it’s not every day that someone starts to date a bonafide princess like Killian did, or have it be the princess whose family he worships and whose country he came from and where he cannot return.

The Crown Princess stews in silence and Regina lets her, shooting sideways glances as they make their way back to Regina’s apartment.   When she first walked in on Emma and Killian in the studio, she was shocked because how often do you mean royalty? Never, that’s how often, but the last few hours have taught Regina that nothing is ever predictable.  Or mundane.  Or easy.

Regina knows enough about royalty; she follows the royal watcher blogs and pays more attention to royalty than she should, because it’s insane to care about these European monarchs living where she does, but there’s something about the idea that a normal girl like Maxima or Letizia could become Queen that appeals to the romantic side of her that she tries so hard to hide under layers of eyeliner.  Emma’s kingdom of Eira is a small landlocked one with mountains and forests but Regina still knows about her mother and father – and now she knows more about the tense political situation that apparently is hiding under all of the tiaras and state dinners.

They reach Regina’s apartment, climbing the two flights of stairs to the top in silence.  It’s not until they’re in the apartment that Emma speaks again.

“This isn’t what I expected,” Emma announces as Regina closes the door behind them.  Regina suppresses a surge of annoyance and tries to keep her voice light, because any of the (admittedly few) people that actually are invited over to Regina’s apartment don’t expect it either and she can’t say it doesn’t sting a little – that the opinion people have of her is so different than who she really is or wants to be.

“You’re not the first to be surprised that I’m not a vampire,” Regina remarks, brushing past Emma to head into the kitchen.  She deposits the bag of food on the counter, puts the white wine in the fridge.  When she looks up, Emma leans against the doorframe, holding out the ice cream.

“Not that,” she tells Regina.  “I’m sorry – I just thought your apartment would be more… monochromatic.”

Regina laughs as she closes the freezer door.  “So does everyone.”  In reality, her apartment is a mix of old furniture given to her by her parents when they moved into the penthouse and Cora redecorated.  Regina has balanced out the heavy wooden tables and chairs with color and texture wherever she could, but when Emma adds, “it reminds me of home,” she feels better.

“My mother likes to pride herself on her expensive taste,” Regina remarks.  She grabs a corkscrew out of the drawer and opens the bottle of merlot, pouring both of them full glasses.  Emma takes it and, Skinny Pop in hand, they head to what counts as Regina’s living room.

“I never said thank you.”  Emma has placed her wine on the coffee table and is fiddling with a string on the cuff of her oversized sweatshirt.  Her legs are tucked up under her on the couch, and she doesn’t meet Regina’s eyes.  “Thanks.  I’m sorry I sounded a bit dramatic.”

“I think that we’re allowed to be a little bit dramatic when we have our heart broken,” Regina admits.   Emma looks up at those words, and shakes her head.

“I don’t know if he broke my heart,” she says.  “Destroyed my trust, maybe, but I don’t know about my heart.”

Regina smiles.  She takes a sip of wine but remains silent – Emma is a tough nut to crack, apparently, and she’s learning that _not_ talking to her gets more in the long run.  

(It takes Regina five sips of wine and three handfuls of popcorn before Emma starts talking.)

…

**THEN**

“Get out.”

The words are out of her mouth before Emma is even aware that she’s speaking, but she’s frozen in place.   She can’t look at him right now, not after everything he’s said to her, can’t even do anything because her mind is _spinning_ and -

“Emma – “

“Get out.”  She finally glances up at him and what she sees makes her look away before she changes her mind: his blue eyes are wide, unshed tears glistening in the corners and she bites her lip, looks back at the floor.  She doesn’t say anything else, just waits, feeling like her body is turning to stone, to ice, she’s so cold, every bit of her reacting violently to the news that Killian just told her.

She hears the rustle of clothing, and the door closes behind him, and she finally unclenches her hands.

_How did this happen?_

_Because you actually thought you’d have true love like your parents_ the small bitter part of her screams, because she’s always wanted it, wanted something so easy and _nothing is ever easy is it_?

Certainly not this.  Certainly not Killian.

Emma sits down in Graham’s  desk chair slowly, wrapping her arms around herself because if she doesn’t, she feels like she will shatter.  Her brain has been working in overdrive since Graham brought her here, and since Killian started to tell his story and –

Oh god, what will her mother think?  Getting involved with an anarchist? Someone who was dishonorably charged from the Army?  Someone who lied to her about who he was? Someone who may be seeking retribution on her and her family, her mother –

And they’ve all known – Graham and Leroy, they’ve known about her and Killian (have they followed her? Cased his apartment? Bugged it (listening to her come undone in his arms, oh god what has she done, she’s so humiliated - )

Her breathing becomes erratic and she stares at the part of the carpet that’s worn away – a small hole, create by Graham or someone else, she doesn’t know, she just stares and she keeps thinking that she should have walked away all those weeks ago, not let herself fall for him, not let him into her life, just walked away when he lied to her the first time about where he was from –

“Emma.”

She snaps her head up, slightly light-headed, to find Graham crouching on the floor in front of her.  Concern is etched all over his face and his hands hover above her arms, like he was going to shake her out of her trance.  She blinks her eyes slowly.

 “I take it things didn’t go so well,” he says softly.   Emma hugs herself tighter.

“How long have you known?” she asks.   And then, softly, adds, “does my mother know?”

“Since you told Belle,” Graham admits.  “Your mother has no idea that you’re seeing anyone.  It hasn’t gone beyond Leroy.”

When she opens her mouth to protest, he holds up a hand.  “Emma, Leroy is going to kill me for this, but I think you need to know the entire story.”

Her heart speeds up because _how can there possibly be more?_   She pulls her legs up, wraps her arms around them and rests her chin on her knees.  She feels better this way- like she can hold herself together better when she’s small.

Graham clears his throat, tries to collect himself – Emma can tell that whatever he is about to say is not going to be pretty, and she’s not sure that she really wants to hear it after all – before looking up at her with sad eyes.

“You’re not here because you wanted to come here – you’re here because your parents wanted to keep you safe.”  Graham sighs, leans forward, steepling his hands in front of him.  “There’s been talk of Prime Minister Cassidy trying to overthrow your parents – “

“There’s been talk about that for years,” Emma protests, and Graham nods.

“There has, but this time it’s real.  There’s a reason I left the military and joined your parent’s household service – Cassidy has all but bribed every military officer to do his bidding.  I wasn’t going to betray my honor, or my queen, by accepting a bribe and neither was Captain Liam Jones – Killian’s brother.” Graham takes a deep breath, looks down at the floor.   “I don’t think Killian is that far off to think his brother was killed because he refused to take a bribe.”

“What happens to my parents?” she asks, voice sounding so small.  “Are they safe?”

Graham’s face changes, growing sadder if possible. 

“You know what happens when a monarchy is overthrown, Emma,” he tells her, and she remembers all of the training she’s had not just in protocol but in weaponry – how to fire a gun, how to handle herself if she’s been kidnapped, how to survive if she must run. 

“Am I running now?” she asks.  Her blood runs cold when she realizes that her parents have prepared her for what they must think is the inevitable, what they must fear will happen sooner rather than later, and they are home and she is here, alone, without them.  Her lip quivers and she bites down to stop it.  Her entire world is falling apart – she can’t as well.

Graham shakes his head.   “No – but if something does happen to your parents, you’ll be granted asylum.  You’ll be safe here.”

Emma’s mind is spinning from all of this and she cannot process the fact that her parents are in trouble, her parents might be killed –

“You said you knew since Belle told you.  What does Belle have to do with this?”

“You don’t really think your mother would let you go without a bodyguard,” Graham tells her quietly.

Like that, things click into place – Belle’s constant help, her continual and steady presence, not just a girl from back home but someone trained to keep Emma safe at all costs.  Belle was the first to know – really _know_  - about Killian, and this violation of privacy feels like another punch to the gut.   Emma feels open and vulnerable now in a way that she hasn’t before, because she hasn’t ever been lied to by quite so many people all at once, and certainly not by everyone she trusted.

“Belle told you about Killian,” Emma says, processing how things worked out.  “And you knew who he was but you still let me see him.”

“I trust him to keep you safe when we can’t,” Graham admits.  “He cares about you Emma – “

“He lied to me!” The words explode from her body, launching across the room and Graham visibly recoils.  “You all lied to me.  You – Leroy – Belle – “ she struggles to says his name, “Killian. Were you all in it together? Was he sent to protect me as well?  Did you all plan to make me like him?  Was it all fake?”

“No! It wasn’t until Belle told us that I even knew he was in town.  I really did know him from my Army days, Emma, I swear – and I swear we didn’t know until then.”

Her veins feel cold, her skin feels like it is crawling – there is no part of her that cannot feel something, from her head to her heart to her toes.  She feels every bit of every single betrayal like a burn, making her want to recoil.  Were they all playing at something, not telling her why she is here, not telling her about their true selves?  Did they not trust her to keep herself safe?  She’s the fucking Crown Princess, she knows how to protect herself (and her heart) like she would her kingdom.  It has been her responsibility since birth to know how.

She deserves more than their lies.

Her phone buzzes in her backpack and she reaches for it, ready to break the tension in the room, to not see Graham looking at her with pity.  It is Ariel, asking about dinner plans and if she wanted to go get food in an hour.

“My roommates,” Emma asks.  “Were they –“

“They’re innocent,” Graham admits.  “Just Belle.  And me.  And Leroy.”

“And Killian.”  Her skin is crawling the longer she stays in this room, in this dorm, where everything reminds her of afternoons spent here lying to Graham, throwing him off the trail of her dalliance, then talking to Belle in their room.

She needs air.

“I’m going for a walk,” she tells him, “don’t follow me.”  And as she reaches the door, she throws over her shoulder (for good measure), “You won’t need to, right? Because you’re already tracking me on GPS on my phone.”  Which is the truth, she realizes slowly – that she’s being monitored more closely than she’s ever thought, that she’s been watching more carefully and with more scrutiny by nearly everyone in her life.

She sees it now.  She’s so very very young and so very very stupid.

She takes her time walking through campus, past all the dorms and in the opposite direction of Killian’s apartment, on paths she normally doesn’t take.  It’s just beginning to get cold and it’s just beginning to get dark, and Emma knows it’s not safe for her to be out here alone, GPS tracking or not.  But she doesn’t want to go home, doesn’t want to look Belle in the eye (she has to know by now, surely Graham has told her everything that went down this afternoon), doesn’t want to explain to Ariel or Ruby why she never texted back, doesn’t –

But there is one person who might be able to help her – someone who might understand what it’s like to have everyone try to dictate your life for you.  She doesn’t know Regina well but she’s all that Emma has – the only person who doesn’t live on or near campus, the only person with a car, the only person outside of her roommates who has been screened by her security team (she is angry at them but she will not cause them more grief, because that would not bode well for her in the end). 

As she pulls out her phone, she’s well aware of the fact that Regina might turn her down, might ignore the call, might not want to help the – ex-girlfriend? Fling? Whatever she was? – of her boyfriend’s roommate. 

But, like her mother always tells her, there’s always hope.

She calls Regina, and on the third try, the other girl answers.

…

**NOW**

“So what are you more upset about? Killian or your posse?” Regina asks as she opens the bottle of white (they killed the merlot during Emma’s story, and for the second time that night, Regina’s ordered a pizza).

“Both,” Emma says, sounding slightly tipsy already but still drinking.  “I’m mad at my ‘posse’ for not telling me the truth, and Killian for not telling me the truth.  I shouldn’t be lied to.”

“No one should,” Regina agrees, “but one of these is not like the other, girlie.  Your security crew doing their best to keep you safe? That’s a completely different story from Killian not telling you his past.”  Regina stops, thinks it over for a second.  “Actually, is it?  Seems like everyone here wants to keep you safe.”

Emma sighs.  “By not letting me know?  Maybe you’re right – maybe it was better not knowing about Belle, but I still – she knew about Killian.  She helped sneak him into the dorm.” She shivers visibly.  “She knew what I was doing with him.”

Regina raises an eyebrow but says nothing, merely leans back into her chair because this is fascinating and sad and so very familiar that it hurts.

“But Killian…” Emma continues.  “He hid things from me – things he should have told me.”

Regina has been debating about Killian’s deep dark secret for the better part of the evening, and the wine has loosened her tongue and made her bold.  Secrets may be no fun, and secrets hurt someone, but secrets exist for a reason, and that reason isn’t always bad.

“And when he did tell you,” she asks, “did you listen to him?”

“I heard – “ Emma says with a frown.

“I didn’t ask if you heard the words coming out of his mouth, I asked if you _listened_ to him.”  Regina purses her lips.  “I’m guessing you didn’t.   Your girlfriends probably told you some half-baked Cosmo bullshit about how men shouldn’t lie and how you should lose them the minute they do, but nothing about actually _listening_ to your man when he needs you.  If they did, you would be with him right now, comforting him after he shared the story about how a megalomaniac hell-bent on bringing down your family also murdered both his brother and his first love.”  Regina shrugs.  “Instead, you’re here eating Chunky Monkey on my couch.” 

“He lied to me,” Emma protests.  “He didn’t tell me any of that.  He didn’t tell me anything about the army or his brother or –“she stumbles over the last work, finally biting out, “or Milah.  He never told me anything about any of that.”

“And that was not okay, and he should have been up front with you – that I am not disputing,” Regina tells her. “But do you tell everyone all of your hopes and dreams and fears?  The things you most regret?  How exactly did you start that conversation?  Did you even tell your roommates your secret identity?”  Regina cocks her head to the side.  “Well?”

“He was an anarchist.”  Emma frowns, folding her hands in her lap.

“He was a broken man.  He just lost his brother.”  Regina sighs.  “I have an older sister and she’s the wicked bitch of the west, but I’d still be upset if anything happened to her.  I can’t even imagine losing a sibling I loved as much as Killian did his brother.”  Regina holds up her hands.  “I’m not excusing his behavior, your highness.  I’m just saying that you may be missing the bigger picture here.”

Emma huffs.  “And what is that, exactly, Regina?” she asks sarcastically.

“That you both have a common enemy – this Gold douchebag already did to Killian what he’s threatening to do to your own family.   That Killian didn’t tell you his dark past, but can you blame him? You’re a Crown Princess of Eira – you’re part of the royal family that he pledged his loyalty or fealty or whatever to when he joined the military.  Imagine how he feels. ”

Emma looks at her sharply and if looks could kill, Regina would be six feet under.

“And you know what? It sucks that he wasn’t honest with you and that he didn’t tell you but in the grand scheme of life, can you blame him for not wanting you to know what a hot mess his life was?  You’ve only been dating a few weeks.  What would you have had him do exactly?  If I was him, I’d totally be embarrassed at all the shit I did when I was drunk and depressed.  I _am_ embarrassed at all the shit I do when I’m drunk, and I don’t have family death on top of it.”

“He should have told me,” Emma whispers, and Regina sighs.  She’s been there, nineteen and stupid (and it’s not like at twenty-two she’s any better) but Emma is stubborn and so Regina sighs again.  Maybe, if reason doesn’t work with the princess, then perhaps a story will.  She didn’t plan to share this, but she sees too much of herself in Emma right now to not say anything.

She closes her eyes first, collecting herself and her anger and as she does, she remembers Daniel’s eyes – soft brown, and the way that his hair fell over his forehead because he always insisted on growing it long (never any longer than the collar of his shirt – his dad was a teacher but not even teachers kids got away with anything at Prep).  She likes to remember him like that, because it’s easier than remembering any of the disappointment or the pain.

“I know what it’s like to be lied to, Emma,” Regina says softly, finishing up her wine and pouring more into her glass – she’s really going to need it to get this out.  “Daniel was my high school sweetheart.  We were going to get married, have a family, grow old together.  But Daniel’s family was poor – his dad taught at the school, mom was dead.   He didn’t have the social connections that my mother wanted for her daughters.  I thought everything was fine when he first met my parents – but it wasn’t.” 

She can still remember how kind Cora was to Daniel, how readily Zelena welcomed him into the family, how they all were so polite and outgoing.

At first.

The snide comments started later: remarks about his future, comments about his father or the gift he gave that one Christmas, bought after months of working at Sears.  Regina still has the cubic zirconia pendant in her dresser, hidden in a box under all of her socks, because even though Zelena disparaged it, and Cora reminded her that a boy like Daniel would only hold someone as bright and talented as Regina back…she can’t part with it.  She doesn’t think she’ll ever part with it.

“We were supposed to come here together.  I could have gone to any school, but Daniel…” Regina hesitates, “his grades weren’t as good as mine –he had to work to help his dad and I, well…” Regina swallows.  “My mother wanted the best for her daughters – private tutors, extra help, things that Daniel’s dad couldn’t afford.  He wanted to do ROTC but there are quotas and GPA requirements and State was the only place he got into, but with no scholarship…he didn’t want loans.  So he thought he’d enlist, go into the Marines, use the GI Bill.”  Regina rolls her eyes.  “That went over well with my mother.”

“So your mother’s overprotective too?” Emma asks.  Regina tries to not laugh and fails miserably.

“Overprotective would be the understatement of the year where Cora’s concerned.”  She looks over at Emma, studying her intently.  “I know it’s all the rage to marry for love where you’re from, but you know that most royal marriages were – and are – political in nature.  It’s much the same for the wealthy elite here – marry with the hope of maintaining or bettering your status quo, and making sure you produce blue-blooded babies that will eventually toddle off to the Ivies.  Cora might have been an up-jumped farmer’s daughter who married a moderately wealthy guy and invested well in hotels, but she wanted more for me.”  Regina leans her head back against the cushion of the chair.  “She wanted Harvard Law and vacations in the Mediterranean.  She wanted wealth and power and prestige for me and, vicariously, for her.”

She remembers it well: Cora telling her over dinner that State wasn’t her first choice for Regina because she could do better; Cora telling her that she didn’t want to see Regina languish on some military base when she had so much potential; Cora telling her that she expected great things out of someone as pretty and talented and bright as Regina, always in that same calm voice, the honeyed tones that made anyone feel like they were valued, liked they mattered, even if they didn’t.

(Sometimes, Regina wonders if anything her mother ever said to her was real.)

She takes another gulp of wine, steadies herself because she hasn’t told this story, well, ever, to anyone save Robin.  “And then there was prom.  He was supposed to come and pick me up but he didn’t.  Cora had scared him away, I think – I don’t really know what happened, just that the doorbell rang and when I came down to meet him, he wasn’t there.”  Cora was fretting about Regina needed a new date and she knew just the one – the son of a member of her Junior League vice-president, on his way to Princeton in the fall.  “I don’t think I’ll ever know what happened while I was upstairs getting dressed.”  (But she can guess, knowing Cora, what happened – that she had said something, convinced him to leave her, let her go – no texts, no emails, nothing.)

She takes a deep breath.  “My mother never said anything, and graduation was a blur and then nothing.  Ever again.”

“What happened?” Emma asks.  Regina swallows.

“He died.  And it wasn’t until he was dead and gone that my mother told that she always knew Daniel would leave me a widow, would go and get himself killed – “

Her voice cracks because she can still remember feeling so broken that no one could fix her when she found out he was killed in combat – and that calm look on Cora’s face through it all.  It was a hot day in May and she was home for the summer and Cora was trying once again to get her to transfer to an Ivy, trying to get her to change her makeup “to something more becoming of someone as pretty” as Regina, trying to get her to stop wearing so much black.   She remembers how she screamed herself hoarse, shouting at her mother until finally Cora snapped and just said, simply, _I knew he would never be good enough for you, Regina, and I told that to him on your prom night. I’m just glad he agreed – the one decent thing he ever did for you_.

“Regina, I’m sorry – “Emma starts but Regina shakes her head, takes a deep breath.

“Just know, Emma, that there is a fine line between people who keep the truth from you to protect you, and people who keep the truth from you to protect themselves.”  


“And where you do think Killian falls?” Emma asks.  Regina doesn’t even look at her as she stands up.

“I think Killian wanted you to know him – not the man he was, but the man he is now.  I think he cares a lot about you and Eira, and given how up close and personal he got with that bottle of Captain Morgan’s the minute he got home, I know it hurts him that he did what he did.”  Regina finishes her wine.  This is way too personal and she needs some space.  “I need a cigarette.”

As she grabs her pack and lighter and heads to the balcony door, Emma says nothing, stares into her wine glass like it holds the meaning of life.

Regina isn’t on the balcony for very long  - she’s barely through her cigarette – before Emma joins her, closing the glass door behind them and standing next to her.  It’s cold tonight, but it’ll get colder in a few weeks and Regina feels flushed and warm from the wine, from her confession.  She takes a drag, then another, before Emma speaks.

“I’m sorry about Daniel,” Emma says. 

“Me too,” Regina replies.

Regina watches Emma’s fingers trace the wear and tear on the wrought iron balcony.  “I need to get out of here for a few days.  If I cleared it with my team – if I made sure that everything was okay with school – would you take me to your parent’s condo?”

Regina laughs, watching her exhale of smoke fade into the night.  “Do you really think your security team is going to just let you pack up and head out of town?”

“They might.  They already approved Thanksgiving.”

“They were going to send somebody to follow you, I’m sure,” Regina says, avoiding the truth: that the younger security guy was supposed to come discretely and stay in another apartment, that all of this had to be coordinated without Emma’s knowledge, that forces were at work beyond the princess’s control.  Lying to protect her is different, Regina reminds herself.  “Which one is the one that actually ‘fessed up?”

“Graham?”

“Is he the one with the beard? Eye-candy? Bring him.”  She stubs out her cigarette on the railing, puts it in a discarded soda can on the porch.  “If you want to go, my parents are still in Boca – if you and your fancy royal connections can get me out of class, I’ll drive you tomorrow.”

Emma’s eyes light up, and she looks relieved.  “Thank you Regina – thanks,” she says, before opening the door (no doubt to call Sergeant Hottie or whatever his name is – Graham?).  Regina pulls her phone out of her pocket, texts Sidney to run the station meeting without her, and after she glances inside to see Emma occupied, calls Robin.

“Hey.”  He picks up on the second ring, breathless and eager.  “What’s going on with Emma?”

“She’s angry and confused,” Regina tells him.  “Stubborn too. She wants me to take her to my parents’ place –which I’m down with if she gets me out of class for a few days.”

“Lucky.  Are you going to go?”

Regina sighs.  “I think so.  I hope that maybe if I talk to her a bit more she might not feel the way that she does about Killian right now.”

“He should have told her.”

“I agree – but there are bigger issues in her life right now than her reputation if she dates a rebel with a cause.  I’ve seen them together – she likes him.”

“And he loves her.”

“Is he still awake?” Regina glances back inside, watching Emma move about the apartment, still deep in conversation on her phone.

“Just passed out.  I’ve got him propped over the garbage can.”

“He’s going to hate himself in the morning.”

“He did that most days anyway – before Emma, at least.”  She hears Robin sigh, can picture him wiping his hand over his face.  “She was good for him.”

“And he might have been good for her.”  Regina sighs.  “I’ll text you if I go.”

“Okay.”  Robin pauses.  “Good night, my love,” he tells her in a ridiculous voice (but she knows he means it).

Regina rolls her eyes.  “Goodnight,” she tells him, and when she re-enters the apartment, there is a smile on her face.  What happened with Daniel makes her even more grateful for Robin being in her life. Even though she doesn’t know Emma that well, she still think everyone deserves a chance at happiness, and she’s got a feeling that Killian just might be to Emma what Robin is for her.

…

Regina is waiting in the car while Emma enters the residence hall.  Its morning, Emma’s head is throbbing from the wine last night, her neck from sleeping on Regina’s couch, and her stomach still hurts from all of the mess of the day before.  She’s grateful – more grateful than she could possibly say – that Regina not only picked her up last night, but gave her food, wine, a place to sleep, and the opportunity to leave town.  The advice she gave is still digesting, slowly, bit by bit. 

She wants to believe that Killian’s intentions were true – that there was residual embarrassment from his past, that he didn’t want her to know – but it still bothers her that he didn’t think he could tell her.  That he didn’t think she had a right to know.  Her anger has decreased slightly, but her frustration at him hasn’t, and she thinks that time away may help her get over this (a small part wonders if it will help her get over him).

(She doesn’t want to get over him.)

Graham meets her at the elevators, hands her the bag that Ruby packed without question when she texted her last night (she can’t risk seeing Belle right now because she doesn’t know how she would react, how she would handle that situation).  Graham is easier to deal with because at least he had the decency to tell her.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.  Emma shrugs, digging in her bag for her sunglasses (it’s too bright in this hallway).

“Like I can’t wait to get out of here,” she responds, sliding them on.  Graham grimaces.

“Emma – “

“It’s okay.  I know you did what you had to do to keep me safe.  I’m not mad at you – or Leroy, and maybe not Belle – at least, not forever.”  She shifts the bag onto her shoulder.  “Ready to go?”

Graham follows her silently to the car, opening the back door for her and allowing her to slip inside.  Regina looks up from her phone.  “So I’m a chauffer now?” she asks, but the minute Graham slides in front, she smiles.

“Hello, Eye Candy.  Don’t worry, I’m a taken woman – I’ll look but I won’t touch,” Regina practically purrs, and from where Emma’s seeing, Graham doesn’t look too offended.

“She has a thing for beards,” Emma mock-whispers.

“Noted,” Graham responds.  Regina starts the car, pulls out of the dorm parking lot.  She turns some music on, and her and Graham start chatting about the band – apparently they’re both fans.

Emma checks her phone.  Killian hasn’t messaged her once (she should be much more satisfied about that, but all she can feel is a bone-weary sadness).

“Who wants breakfast?” Regina asks as they drive past campus towards the commercial part of town.  They stop at a Sonic, and as they hit the highway, drinking cherry limeades and eating tater-tots, Emma watches the acres of farmland pass by.  It’ll be a few hours until they reach the city, and Emma has enough on her mind to pass the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of Emma's kingdom is the Welsh word for 'snow'.


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to artielu for the beta:)

 

8.

His head is pounding, his tongue is too-large for his mouth, his throat is dry, and he’s fairly certain that yesterday’s dinner is coming back for round two.  Killian props his arm on the waste bin, grateful that he’s moved it so close to his bed, as the contents of his stomach vacate their current premises. 

Afterwards, with a shaky hand, he wipes his mouth.

“Here, drink this and take these – you’ll feel better,” someone says – Robin, he pieces together no thanks to the throbbing headache.  His roommate places two bright orange pills into one hand and a glass of water into the other.  The bin disappears and so does Robin, so Killian rolls over.  He pops the pills into his mouth, finishes the glass of water in one gulp (he is very thirsty) and blinks.

It’s been a long time since he’s been this hung-over, but the feeling is a familiar one (as is the feeling of regret that starts to crawl up the back of his spine and along this limbs because _what did he do last night? What did he say?_ ).  He leans his head back against the pillow and stares at the ceiling.

“This is not my room,” he realizes, pieces starting to fit together slowly as the full picture comes into view.

“Nope,” Robin’s voice says from far away.  He can see shadows as Robin approaches, hears the couch across the room groan when Robin sits down (they need to get rid of that ratty old thing and actually buy furniture someday…).   “How much of the last twenty-four hours do you remember, mate?”

Killian closes his eyes tight, wipes away sleep with the palms of his hands.  He remembers Regina and a phone call, rum – oh god, the smell is wafting up from his shirt, he must have spilled some, he’s going to be sick and there’s no bin – he remembers pizza and he remembers –

“Fuck,” he says, rolling back over and miraculously the waste bin reappears underneath him.  Somewhere above him Robin chuckles, and he’s sure glad that someone’s amused because he is the exact opposite.

When he regains his composure, he falls back onto the couch with a sigh.  “Emma,” he tells Robin.  “I remember I talked to Emma.” Even saying her name sends a wave of self-loathing through Killian, making him recoil. 

 He presented his past to her, let her make her decision, and she told him to leave.  It seems fitting, in the light of day, that he would be dismissed (what did he expect to happen, anyway? Emma is not her mother – there was kindness mixed with fear in her eyes when he told her the truth, and that was when she could meet his eyes at all).  He hates himself.  He really hates himself.

“Yes, Emma,” Robin repeats.  “It’s been a long night for you, Killian Jones, and I imagine that the day will be longer still.”

“What time is it?”

“About nine in the morning.  Good thing that you skipped all your classes yesterday – or at least that’s what I’m assuming you did since you stumbled in here ready to drown your sorrows while you should have been in your economics class.”

“Didn’t know you knew my schedule, mate,” Killian remarks, trying to sit up but failing miserably as his head feels so heavy (no doubt weighed down by so very much shame) and it hurts to move.

“It’s posted on the fridge next to mine, _mate_ ,” Robin remarks.  “Look, if you want to take the day to lick your wounds and emerge from this battle a man, do it.  Everyone knows you can usually miss one class without repercussions.”

“I’ve got a show this afternoon.”  The thought of moving is too much for Killian but he knows he will have to, will have to suffer through Meteorology and Statistics – after he gets some food and several gallons of water - before heading to WOUT for his show (at least he has a good idea of his playlist today, with the way that his chest feels, tight and empty).

 There was a time when this was the norm, when he suffered through days with much worse hang-overs and just as much heartache, but he is very much out of practice both with the physical and emotional elements of a broken heart.  The shame, however, that comes from making poor decisions - that has returned like a long-lost friend, and he can’t exactly say that it’s a welcome return, but it’s here to stay.

“Yeah, and you better not miss that because you know how Regina gets about skipping shifts,” Robin points out.  Killian sighs, rubs at his eyes once more.  Regina is the least of his problems right now, but he won’t tell Robin that.

From what he remembers last night, he drank himself stupid after pouring out his soul to Emma (which is not surprising, given his track record with shitty decisions).  But, from the hazy depths of his drunken memory, he vaguely recalls something involving Regina and Emma –

“Whatever happened with Regina?” he asks, taking another shaky sip of water, his stomach clenching.   Robin sighs.

“She’s with Emma right now and that’s all I know, and that’s all I’m going to tell you.”  Robin runs his hands through his hair. “Please don’t think I’m being unsympathetic to your cause, Killian, but you gambled with your princess and you lost, and now you need to think about yourself and what comes next.”  Robin sighs again and stands up, patting Killian on the shoulder.  “I’ve got Forestry so I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.”  Killian nods his head, focuses on the faint sounds of Robin getting ready to head to campus.  The light that sneaks between the venetian blinds is too bright, so he turns his head away and looks for his phone (it is in his pocket, battery near-dead).  There are some messages from his bandmates but nothing from Emma, which he expected since she hasn’t messaged him in days. 

Robin is right – he went all-in, and he lost just like he always does.  He will just have to find a way to live without her now (even if he doesn’t want to, he’ll have to, because he doesn’t have any other options).

He stumbles into the shower, hoping the steam and the water will wake him up and clear his head, but all he can think about is Emma and the (now final) loss of her.  There will be no other chances.  He has to deal with the consequences of his action, not for the first time.

The old familiar darkness settles down around his shoulders, weighing his heart down.  It was as constant a friend as the booze not that long ago, and as he gets dressed, pulling a t-shirt over his head, he recognizes the feeling of heaviness in his limbs and in his lungs, and he doesn’t try to shake it off, just lets it linger. 

It’s one of the few things he has now that he doesn’t have her.

…

Regina drives fast, and they make it to the city before noon.  She insists that they stop at a Whole Foods in the suburbs because there won’t be any food in the penthouse and “I am not walking six city blocks with groceries, just so you know.”  Emma sighs but she hops out of the car and follows Graham and Regina in.

The car ride was better than Emma had expected – Regina and Graham got along fine, and both seemed more than willing to distract Emma from any of the maudlin thoughts that attempted to invade her headspace nonstop (she can’t stop thinking about Killian, about his past and his lips and his lips on her and the way he made her feel and he way he still makes her feel, which is confusing her because how hard would it be to just feel angry and indignant? Why does she have to feel this loss, this sorrow too?).  Regina’s words are still ringing in her ears about Killian wanting her to know him, about his embarrassment in regards to his behavior, and Emma’s starting to think that maybe Regina is just a tiny bit right.  Maybe.

But she doesn’t want to admit it.  Not yet.  Regina’s head is big enough already without this reinforcement.

They walk through the grocery store, filling up a shopping cart with food and chatting like three friends, not three people thrown together haphazardly (one in another’s employ).   When they walk towards the wine aisle, Emma moves to turn away but Regina shakes her head.

“My father has a good selection of wine and my mother would kill me if we didn’t offer it to you – better than this swill,” she says with a curl of her lip.

It’s a short drive from Whole Foods to Regina’s parents’ penthouse in the city, and as the skyscrapers begin to loom over them, Emma studies them with keen interest.  She’s never been to a place like this, where the land is so flat and the buildings so vertical, racing towards the sky.  It makes her feel very small, and very far from home, where the streets are twisting and narrow and all of the buildings ancient.  She takes a deep breath, watches as her exhale fogs up the car window, and before she knows it they’re going underground into a parking garage.

The penthouse is a study in modern simplicity – clean lines, spartan furniture, industrial steel and large open windows that provide a panoramic view of the city.  Graham whistles low when they enter, and Emma notices that Regina can’t help but smile because this place is impressive.

“This is gorgeous,” Emma tells her, and Regina’s smile grows wider.

“I’ll have to let Cora know,” Regina remarks, and Emma frowns in confusion.

“Cora?”

“My mother – I call her by her first name because it pisses her off.”  Regina throws a smile over her shoulder as she walks past.  “C’mon – I’ll give you a tour.”

They put away the food in a kitchen that is easily the size of Killian and Robin’s apartment, and then Regina takes them to the rooms they can stay in and the en suite bathrooms (plural) that they can use.   Emma’s room overlooks the lake, and she takes a moment to just appreciate the view before jumping in the shower that has more than one setting (dorm showers are the _worst_ ) and washing off the grime and tears of the day before.

She did cry over Killian – once Regina was in her bedroom and she was alone.  She buried her face in the pillow, sobs coming hard and fast as she thought about his ridiculous face and his ridiculous past and how she wanted nothing more than to just let it be, let it not hurt her, but she grew up being told that the truth was the most important thing in life, that secrets hurt people.  And even though she can see why he failed to tell her – even though she understands, innately, why he kept it from her – she’s not like other college girls.  She’s a princess, and she has responsibilities to her people and her country.  Everything in her life has to be above board and transparent; anything that isn’t can only hurt her in the end.

Emma has spent her life being careful with her person and with her heart, and anytime she even thinks of throwing caution to the wind, things go poorly and she must repair her foundations, build her walls a little higher to keep herself safe.  It started when she was in secondary school, and there were girls who wanted to be her friend so that they could be invited to fancy parties, and who talked about her behind her back when she ignored the.  Then there was Walsh and his insensitivity about her first time (she can’t believe she’s still angry but she is, because every time Killian touched her she was excited and scared and how she trusted him and - ), and now with Killian and his dark past.    Each time she has been made to feel vulnerable, been made to feel foolish, and she cannot afford that.  Eira cannot afford a fool for a queen.

And yet, she thinks as she rinses the conditioner out of her hair, this time with Killian is different.  His past was full of tragedy, but she cannot ignore that he didn’t keep it hidden forever, and for all that she feels betrayed, she wasn’t.  He didn’t keep secrets to hurt her, that much is true.

Neither did Belle, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Emma to stomach that she was there because she was paid to be, as her bodyguard. There’s something skeevy about knowing she shared the same small room with someone who wasn’t honest about her identity that bothers Emma in a way that Killian’s shady past doesn’t. Ever since she found out, Emma’s been wondering why she didn’t see it sooner - Belle  always knew what to say, what to do, had a maturity beyond her years and of course she did, she’s much older than she seems.

Emma pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the university’s logo on it, and finger-combs her hair.  As she heads out to the kitchen, she can hear Regina and Graham talking quietly about her.  She stops, presses herself against the wall, and listens.

“Leroy doesn’t want us to be gone for too long,” she hears Graham say, and someone – Regina, probably – opens up a can of soda (Emma can hear the _pop_ and _hiss_ , can hear the low _clink_ of it being placed on the marble countertop).

“Well that doesn’t depend on Leroy, does it?” Regina asks.  “We stay until her royal highness tells us she’s ready to go back.”

“Do you give me orders now?” Graham responds. 

“Oh honey, I would love to give you orders, but you and I both know we’re here for the duration,” Regina says with a sigh.  Emma chooses then to round the corner, hands in her pockets.

“Thanks,” she says, her appearance surprising them.  “Thanks for this.”

Graham sits on a stool by the counter, Regina on the other side.  Regina picks up her soda, takes a sip with a raised eyebrow. 

“Thank _you_ \- I’ve had a desperate need to get out of that hick town,” she says, and even though she’s fronting like the college town they live in is the worst, Emma knows that Regina probably misses her boyfriend.  She does feel guilty for asking her to come here – to be her ally when she’s the girlfriend of Killian’s roommate and Killian’s boss at WOUT – but she’s never quite sure what to do in regards to Regina.  She saw her vulnerable last night, but that Regina and this one standing in front of her, hand on her hip and smirk on her lips, is a very different one.

Emma guesses that maybe she’s much the same way – she doesn’t make it easy on any of them by her stubbornness, her refusal to deal with this problem back at school.  Silence lingers in the air between them and finally Regina sighs and says, “Let’s eat.”

They make lunch – sandwiches and chips, and Regina liberates a bottle of white from her parent’s wine fridge and sit on the rooftop patio overlooking the city.  Below them cars honk and people go about their daily business, and it seems so strange to Emma that they’re here, away from everything, drinking wine in the afternoon. 

The wine and food make her sleepy, and Regina encourages her to take a nap.  “I still have a paper due Friday, and I’m sure Graham has to check in with Leroy,” she adds, but it takes very little to convince Emma. 

She slides under the covers of her bed, enjoying the feel of the ultra-soft pillow that is so different from her pillow back at the dorm - more like home, and that makes her heart ache.  She didn’t sleep well last night, and she hopes that this time will be different.  She’s still thinking about Killian, wishing he was with her in bed, arm wrapped around her, his breath against her neck.

Thoughts of him warm her traitorous heart, and she drifts off easily.

…

Killian removes the headphones, resting them on the countertop as he rolls the chair back and away from the microphone.  He’s got another thirty minutes before he’s got to do station identification, and so he starts to cue up music in the CD player – Lykke Li then Arcade Fire (and [if his show is a sad mess, well, it’s because _he_ is a sad mess](http://8tracks.com/anniegeez/dj-lonely-hearts-mix-tape)).

He knew it was going to end like this with Emma, and it’s his own fault for falling in love with her.  She was kind and caring and beautiful and she made him feel like he could be better than the shell of a man he once was, so focused first on vengeance and then forgetting the past, but even the most kind individuals cannot forgiven every offense against them (nor should they, his broken heart tells him, because not everything should be forgiven).

If he had told her from the beginning, he wouldn’t have fallen in this deep, wouldn’t be stuck trying to climb his way out.

Lykke Li starts singing about never learning and that’s what Killian does – he never learns.  Love is something he can’t have because he doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to handle it.  Love isn’t built on the shaky foundation of falsehoods, and he should have given her the chance to know sooner, should have been honest with her about Milah from the beginning, maybe things could have been salvaged–

But it doesn’t fucking matter, in the end, does it? There is nothing to salvage, nothing to save.  He was a wretched human being before he met her and he will be after her.

The track ends and the next starts, mopey as the first, and there is a banging on the glass.  Killian looks up to see Robin on the other side, making a face at him.  His roommate rounds the corner and enters the studio, frowning.

“That’s it,” he announces, dropping his book bag on the ground.  “I can’t handle this.  This is the fucking worst, Killian – I’m going to break you out of your lovesick haze.”

“What if I don’t want to be broken out of my lovesick haze?” Killian snaps back, because he doesn’t – because he wants to hunker down and lick his wounds and this show, this was his zone, his space to just mourn.  Robin looks at the CDs spread out on the counter and shakes his head.

“Did I get here before or after Morrissey? Nevermind,” he remarks as he slips into the DJ’s chair, pauses the music.  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is DJ Robin Hood of ‘Hood Rich’ and I am hijacking DJ Lonely Hearts' show” (Killian bristles at the nickname but if the shoe fits - )

He flips through the tracking and Killian can’t help but smile as the new song starts.  This is one of his favorite tracks, and he knows that Robin likes it too.

“ _If the snow buries my - my neighborhood_ ,” Robin sings along, “ _if my parents are crying, then I’ll dig a tunnel from my window to yours_ – “He reaches over and cranks up the volume inside the studio.  “Sit back, I got this, mate.”

“Maybe I wanted to be DJ Lonely Hearts,” Killian protests but he sits on a stool anyway, trying not to think about Emma sitting there all those weeks ago and fails (he can still remember the way the harsh lights of the studio reflected the gold in her hair, still remembers the shy smiles and the way her lips tasted of fruit when he kissed her in the hallway afterwards).  Robin shakes his head and pulls out some other CDs, shuffling through the ones already on the counter. 

“I know you do, and that’s why I’m here to distract you,” Robin admits.  “I know you, and I know how you’ll trap yourself in a funk for a month.  And I know it’s your choice, free will, blah blah blah, but I felt like you needed to know that there is a world outside of your head and your heart, and your friends care about you.”

Robin’s words touch Killian, because there have been times in the years that he’s known the other man that something has triggered a memory of Liam or Milah and he ends up much the same that he did last night – downing rum like water, drinking to forget – and even though it feels right, it’s not healthy (that’s Liam’s voice in his head, telling him that he can do better).  And knowing that Robin cares about him is actually what he needs to hear right now, because Liam always knew how to make things better, always knew how to make Killian try harder, aim higher.

But the desire to aim high conflicts the desire to not give a fuck, to let his life continue to meander because he’s such a fuck-up that he’ll never fix it anyway so why try? KiIlian takes a shaky breath, focuses.  He needs a distraction.

He taps his foot against the stool, watching as Robin dramatically dances around the station because how can he not with this song?  The song does make his mood lighter, shakes away the darkness that has been lingering at the base of his skull.   So does watching another DJ, Aurora, enter the booth towards the end of the song, while Robin is singing along “Ooo-ooo-oooo-ooo-ooo!”  and doing the running man.  She does a little dance herself and joins in until the end of the song, when another track that Robin’s selected cues up.

“You two are idiots,” she comments, leaning against the doorway and watching Robin act foolish.  “Hey Killian, do you check your phone these days?  Phillip wants to know if you can practice tonight and tomorrow night.  He booked a studio for after term in December, wants to finally cut that EP.”

Killian smiles sheepishly because he’s been avoiding his phone and his bandmate’s girlfriend shouldn’t be the one stalking him down and reminding him.  “Sorry, I’ve been DJ Lonely Hearts lately.”

The band knows that Killian had been seeing someone but he had never brought Emma by and there had been no gigs lately, with midterms and projects but now that it sounds like recording the EP is finally on the horizon, Killian knows things will pick up.   It may be a good thing that he’s single again, the way that Phillip pushes then (they all want to record but none as much as their front man). 

Aurora frowns, says, “I’m so sorry, Killian, I thought you two were doing well,” before adding, “just text Phillip, okay?” as she walked out the door and into the office.

Killian turns back to Robin, who is still cueing up music.  “Hey – thanks,” he says.

“For what?” Robin asks from over a stack of CDs.

“For hijacking my show.  For looking out for me so that I don’t become a total recluse – since Liam, I never really had anyone looking out for me and…” Killian struggles to find a way to express just how much it matters.

“No big, mate, I totally understand,” Robin says, extending his arm.  Killian reaches for it, and they shake, then awkwardly hug, patting each other on the back.   Killian can’t help but laugh afterwards, because Robin isn’t really touchy-feely and the fact that he came out to help him, to cheer him up – it matters.  It matters more than Killian can articulate, to know that even with his broken pieces and fucked up soul, there are still people who see the good in him.

His show wraps up uneventfully, and from there it’s a station meeting run by Sidney (because Regina is gone, and Robin won’t say anything about it so he knows it has to do with Emma, she’s somewhere with Emma and his stomach hurts just thinking about her).   In the midst of it all, he can feel the creeping of the darkness down his spine, into his chest, circling like a vulture around his heart.

Liam would want him to be better.  Liam would want him to not give in to his baser instincts, to not wallow in pain and misery. 

The struggle is real.

There’s band practice after that, and he throws himself into his music in a way he hasn’t in some time – so much so that it’s noticeable, the way that he’s playing, every note sounding perfect in Phillip’s garage and this is it, being a part of a whole, this is what he hasn’t had since he first joined the Army, first found purpose.

“Way to be, Killian,” Mulan calls out from behind the drum set, and Victor nods in appreciation from across the room.  Killian wipes the sweat off his brow, adrenaline still coursing through him because he’s got this, this is something manageable, this is something he can do, this is all he can do if he doesn’t have _her_.

…

Emma wakes late in the afternoon, watching the sun sink below the skyline and cast pink and red rays across the lake. She shuffles into the living room, where Regina is working on her laptop, listening to music. She swears she hears Robin’s voice, and when Regina sees her, she turns the music down.

“What are you listening to?” Emma asks, and Regina looks at her computer and back up sheepishly.

“WOUT’s online stream,” Regina admits.  “I’m so anal retentive, I need to know what’s going on when I’m not there.”

“Oh – was that Robin’s show?” she asks, but as she does she realizes what time it is and when Regina shakes her head, she knows.

“No – he crashed Killian’s,” Regina admits slowly, and Emma totally understands why.  They are all here because of Emma and Killian, and Emma’s unresolved feelings towards and about him (the thought that she might hear his voice over the tinny computer speakers makes her heart skip a beat and her stomach sink and her blood run cold all at once).

“Can you turn it up? I kinda like this track.”  Emma sinks down into a black chair that looks uncomfortable at first glance but isn’t, not really, tucking her legs up under her.

“Arcade Fire?” Regina grins.  “I love this band.  So does Robin.  And Killian, apparently, because he was playing something else by him before Robin took over.”  Regina looks at her hands, a fond smile on her face.  “I think they’re the one band that everyone on the station can agree on.”

“They’re pretty good,” Emma admits.  “I don’t go to a lot of shows.”

“I imagine not.  Eira can’t have a good music scene as small and isolated as it is – I guess most of the major acts go to Amsterdam?” Regina asks, and Emma nods, appreciating that Regina isn’t pointing out the obvious safety problems with royalty going to dodgy concert venues.

“But I like them.”  She pauses, a thought coming into her head about Robin taking over Killian’s show. “I know Robin doesn’t like me,” Emma admits. 

Regina laughs to herself before looking back up at Emma.   There is a soft smile on her face and when she speaks, her voice is quiet yet the affection she holds for Robin is quite clear.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that my boyfriend isn’t the most outspoken man,” Regina says.  “He’s known Killian for a long time, and he knew both Killian’s story and who you were when Killian brought you over the first time.  He’s looking out for his friend.”  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.  “When he decides he likes you, you can never get rid of the man – his loyalty is everlasting, it seems.”

“So when did you guys start dating?” Emma asks.  Regina shifts the computer off her lap, crosses her legs on the sofa.

“Just this fall, but we’d known each other since freshman year but I think I scared him – I tend to do that to people,” Regina admits.  “We actually hooked up at the end of the school year, and I think that disabused him of the notion that I was unattainable.”  Regina pauses.  “Daniel died that summer and when I came back I was harsher.  Colder.  I’m not the type of girl to make friends easily but it was worse.  And I was so sad, so upset, so angry –“

Emma remembers the story that Regina told her last night – how her high school boyfriend had been scared away by her mother, how her mother had lied, how Regina found out only after he was dead.  _There is a fine line between people who keep the truth from you to protect you, and people who keep the truth from you to protect themselves_ Regina had said, and Emma is starting to think that Killian was definitely not trying to protect himself – unless he was trying to protect himself from more heartache, which is entirely possible but very different from getting rid of your daughter’s boyfriend because you want winters in the Bahamas and grandchildren at Harvard.

If that is the case, then Emma can’t hate Killian for wanting to protect himself.  She’s guilty of the same offense, constantly trying to keep her heart safe, and the knowledge that she is just like Killian in that respect is a sobering thought.

“What happened?” she asks. 

“He never gave up on me.  He took every opportunity to remind me that I was more than people’s opinions about me.  He was a friend when I needed him.”  Regina takes a deep breath.  “And then one day, he became more.”

“I like that story,” Emma tells her, because it’s true, and because it reminds him of her parents, the idea of faith and hope and _love._ Regina ducks her head, embarrassed.  “How did you know you were in love?”

She expects Regina to give her a smart-assed response but she doesn’t.  Instead, the other girl gets a wistful look on her face.

“You know, I tried to figure out exactly what it was about Robin that made me feel that way but…I couldn’t.  It was everything.   He makes me angry and he makes me sad and he makes me happy, and he believes in me despite everything – despite how I can be at times,” Regina says.  “Like, I’m enough for him the way I am, and I don’t have to be perfect – just Regina.”

Emma considers this statement, because she remembers feeling that way – like she was enough as _Emma_ , like she didn’t have to be the Crown Princess, and there have been very few people in her life that have ever accepted her for herself outside of her parents and probably Leroy, the old curmudgeon (she wants to think that her roommates do, but they are still getting to know each other and so the number remains small, and maybe that’s about right).

The song changes and there is a pause – a DJ coming on air – and Regina closes her laptop, shutting off the music completely.  When she does, Emma hears her stomach growl.

“So what are we doing for dinner?” Emma asks.  “Can we go somewhere?”

Regina opens her mouth, looking uncertain, but she is cut off by Graham. 

“Absolutely not – your mother’s orders,” he says, just as Emma rolls her eyes.

“You told her I’m here?” Emma squeaks, feeling anxiety grow in her belly (oh god she hasn’t checked in with her mom this week, maybe she should do that?), but Graham shakes his head.

“No, those are the orders for when you were planning to come here at Thanksgiving.  You cannot leave the apartment, Emma, because this is a big city and there is a chance you could be recognized.  Being recognized means that Cassidy would know where you are, and we cannot allow that to happen.” Graham sighs as he sinks into a white chair nearby.   “She’d be furious if she knew we went to Whole Foods.”

“I guess we can order delivery,” Regina suggests with a shrug.  “We do have all that wine…”

Emma sighs, letting her head fall back against the chair.   She doesn’t like being cooped up inside, but if the ruling has come down from her mother, then she best follow it or pay for it later when her mother finds out. 

They order deep-dish pizza and open more bottles of wine and talk about everything and nothing and its nice, to be so distracted.  But the more wine she drinks, the more she thinks about Killian.  How he made her happy, and angry, and sad.  And how it was not just one thing about him that drew her in, but everything about him. 

And now, when it feels like she must build higher and stronger defenses to protect her fragile, vulnerable heart, there is a small part of her that misses him with a pain that she never thought possible.

She pulls her sweatshirt over her head, opens the balcony door and goes to stand outside.  The lights of the city shine all around her and the cars honk their horns and the wind whips her hair around her face but she is there, in that moment, feeling everything (the cold air the harsh wind the alcohol singing in her veins) and all that she wishes, more than anything else, is that Killian was there with her too.  The thought makes her even more confused than she was before, and she shakes it off but it sticks like a stray hair, refusing to be brushed away.

…

The first day goes by, and then the second.   There are homework assignments to turn in and papers and band practice and Killian puts more effort into all of these things, effort that he had been giving to other tasks (he can still remember the taste of Emma’s, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her hair beneath his fingertips and he doesn’t think he’s likely to forget it any time soon).  He drinks to forget these things and to not dream about them when his head hits the pillow.

He even helps Robin clean the apartment, gathering up beer bottles to recycle and putting all of the pots and pans away because without Regina here to complain or Emma to impress, they’ve been a bit lazy when it comes to housecleaning.

“This place actually looks like humans live here,” Robin tells him as they finish late Thursday night.  He reaches in the fridge and pulls out two beers, handing Killian one. 

“They do,” Killian says, clinking the bottle against Robin’s.   His roommate leans back against the counter, looks him over.

“How are you doing?” Robin asks.  Killian drinks his beer.

It’s a loaded question, because the first answer is _not great_.   The more time he spends away from Emma, the more he regrets not acting sooner and telling her when they first met.   If he had told her early on, they may have been able to talk it out, work through it (or she could have run, and his heart would have been spared).

But he didn’t, and so he must live without her.

It is agony.

“It’s not been easy,” he tells Robin, because it hasn’t.  Everything reminds him of her – the sappy songs that his band sings, the shows on TV they watched together, the soda he bought specifically for her because she really likes Diet Cherry Coke.  Everything that happens he wants to share with her – the new song that his band just wrote, the ridiculous student who argued with the prof in Econ, every little boring and unimportant part of his day he wants to talk to Emma about, because that’s what he spent nearly a month doing, and it has become a part of his day. 

At lunch today, he actually picked up a grilled chicken salad for her before he put it back, remembering she wasn’t there anymore nor would she be again.

“It never is,” Robin admits.  “When Marian and I broke up, I was a mess for a long time until I pulled myself up by my bootstraps – “

“- and slept with Regina,” Killian finishes.  He’s never met Marian, Robin’s high school sweetheart, only heard about her secondhand through stories of how she dumped him via text at the end of Robin’s freshman year, and how he consoled himself by hooking up with Regina.  Of course, Robin then proceeded to pursue Regina for two additional years before she finally consented to date him, but that didn’t appear to ever slow him down.

“It was a good call on my part,” Robin admits with a shrug.  “One day, you’ll stop thinking about her.”

“Just not anytime soon,” Killian points out.  Robin nods.

“No, not any time soon.”

Killian embraces the sadness that comes with losing Emma, because he lost her – that’s the best way to explain it.  His cowardice, his fear of judgment, his idiocy – he lost her as a result of that.  It is his fault.  Unlike Milah or Liam, this is entirely his own fault. 

He cries that night, ashamed and embarrassed and alone, cries because everything good is taken away from him – Liam, Milah, Emma – because he is broken, because he is weak, because he doesn’t deserve nice things like love and companionship (if he didn’t, then none of this would happen, but Killian Jones is a pathetic man, a lost man, and that is all he ever will).

He carries these thoughts with him into Friday, where his only plans are to go to class and then drink, and maybe play – no band practice tonight, nothing to waste away the lonely hours. 

He spots Belle outside of his Geography of Transportation class, leaning against the wall trying to seem casual and failing, and it seems that she is waiting for him. She’s not wearing the dresses and skirts he remembers her favoring from his brief interactions with her – today she’s in dark colors and pants, and she looks like the military bodyguard that she really is.  For the first time, Killian can tell that she’s older than Emma, but not by much.

“This would be creepy, but I’m fairly sure you have my schedule already so…” he says, trailing off. Belle nods, crosses her arms across her chest.

“I know I deserve that, since I’m the one that reported on you.  I also compiled the dossier so you can blame me for that too.”

“I can’t blame you for doing your job.”  Killian takes a sip from his water bottle, watches as Belle looks down.

“I am so sorry, Killian,” Belle says, and he can see the tears forming in her eyes, making him feel uneasy. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he insists, because it’s the truth –because there is absolutely nothing that Belle needs to apologize for.   Emma’s security team would have found out about him sooner or later, especially if things got serious (that thought causes his chest to feel tight but he pushes past that, focuses on the moment, because there is no way that a princess would seriously date someone as broken as him).    “I’m the one who ruined things.”

“She doesn’t trust me anymore.”  Belle looks down, stubs the toes of her boots against the tiled floor.  Killian shrugs.

“Would you, if someone you thought was a friend was also there spying on you? Maybe ‘spying’ is too harsh a word but – “

Belle shakes her head aggressively.  “No, that’s exactly what I did – in Emma’s eyes, at least.  I didn’t mean to, I just –“

“You were doing your job,” Killian reminds her.  He is uncertain of how to comfort her because whatever Belle is feeling is threatening to shatter his own careful control that has carried him through school these past few days, and Belle brushes her eyes, nods her head.

“Just my job,” she says, and Killian smiles.

“I’ll see you around,” he tells her, not really sure what else he should say.  Belle calls after him, softly, “Don’t you want to know where she is?”

He does, he really does, but he doesn’t, because it doesn’t matter.  There will be no reunion, no reconciliation.  He shakes his head.

“No,” he tells Belle.  “I don’t.”

He turns and walks away, leaving Belle in the hallway and feeling like the further he moves from her, the further he moves from Emma.  There is barely any overlap in their social circles and he doesn’t think that matters too much anyway.  Emma doesn’t want him anymore.  It’s a large school.  He can just disappear.

(It’s never that easy and he knows it.)

…

Graham, unfortunately, has the foresight to bring Emma’s books and laptop with him, and so while she endures pseudo-house arrest in Regina’s parents’ penthouse, she gets work done – papers she was going to not start until later in the semester for English Comp, notecards for Biology (she avoids Facebook because she doesn’t want to see Belle or Killian’s faces on her newsfeed and she knows the temptation to look them up - look _him_ up - would be too great).  It feels good to keep her mind so busy with schoolwork but she grows restless after some time, gets frustrated by having this new and interesting city just outside her door.

“Why can’t I go out and walk around?” she complains.  “Madeleine gets to walk around New York all the time.”  Emma is well aware that she’s being a whiny brat but there is only so much time she can spend on cells and life forms, only so many seasons of ‘Orange is the New Black’ on Netflix because the minute she stops, then the thoughts about Killian come back and she misses him and she hates him and she thinks she just might love him too.

Graham puts down the book that he’s reading and fixes her with a patronizing gaze. “That is because your cousin is third in line to the Swedish throne, not first,” he points out.   From across the room, Regina looks up from her laptop.

“I thought she was fourth in line after her sister, her niece, and her brother,” Regina interjects, counting off the line of succession on her fingers.  Emma grabs her phone and Googles it and –

“She’s right, Graham,” Emma tells him, and Regina lets out a ‘whoop’ in victory. “Before Estelle was born, Madeleine was third and now she’s not.”

“Oh snap – I’m not even European and I know more than you, boo,” Regina tells Graham, reaching over to smack his arm lightly (Graham rolls his eyes at the action).

“Why do you know so much about European royalty?” Emma asks, and Regina shrugs.

“I find the tradition fascinating,” Regina admits.  “So, can I ask you about…”

Regina’s interest sparks a conversation on all of Emma’s royal family members and friends.  For the first time since she’s been here, Emma is actually able to talk freely about being royalty.  She hasn’t so far with Ruby or Ariel because neither girl seems to care about more than just the superficial aspects like jewels and ball gowns and Prince Harry.  It’s nice to be both Emma the college student and Emma the princess.  It’s a welcome change, to be able to talk about her life without fear of being judged.

It’s how she felt with Killian, when she’s completely honest with herself, because he cared about all of what made her _Emma_.

“I knew it!” Regina remarks after Emma lets a particularly salacious bit of gossip drop about a certain crown princess, smile wide on her face and Emma has to rush, to caution her not to say anything.  Regina rolls her eyes.

“Your secret’s safe with me, your highness,” she says.  “I’m going to make a phone call.”

Regina heads to her room, leaving Graham with Emma.  They haven’t spoken much over the past few days – at least, not privately – and he looks nervous.

“I’m not mad at you,” Emma says, and Graham laughs, sinks back into the chair.  “You did what you needed to do to keep me safe.  I can see that.”

“And I appreciate your benevolence, your highness.  I just feel bad for Killian.”

His name causes a surge to go through Emma’s, doubling and looping back on itself until her entire body is humming. Graham has been discreet, has avoided mentioning him but now that he has, Emma can clearly see he wants to talk.   And for the first time, she wants to listen.

“Why?” she asks simply, curious why Killian inspires so much loyalty from people like Robin and Graham (and, in small way, from Regina).  Emma doesn’t know Graham well - she knows him as part of her team, and while they’ve been friendly, it hasn’t been like Belle whose mission was to pose as her friend.   Everything that Graham says - about Killian, about Eira - reveals just as much as his actions when he tried to right his perceived wrong when he let slip about Killian’s discharge.  Graham seems like an honorable man, and Emma is glad he’s protecting her.

“He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known,” Graham tells her.  “He was a good soldier – loyal to queen and country.  He wanted to do what was honorable and what was best before serving his own needs.  And he cared about others – he was one of the best friends you could have, and a devoted brother.  If he wasn’t, I don’t think he would have done what he did.”

“You mean Milah,” Emma says, because Milah – Killian’s first love – and Killian’s rebellion will always be linked in her mind.  Graham shakes his head.

“I think that getting involved with Milah Cassidy was an impulsive move, but that’s not what I’m talking about.  Seeking justice for his brother’s death - I think that shows how far Killian is willing to go to do the right thing for those he cares about.”  Graham takes a deep breath, glancing up at Emma, and she recognizes that look as the one Leroy always gives her mother before he speaks his mind.  She nods, hoping he will continue.

“I know that it’s presumptuous to talk to you like I’m about to, but I’d like it if you heard me out,” he cautions.  The humming in Emma’s body grows.   “I think that Killian was stupid not telling you that he was forcibly expelled from Eira, I think he did it because he was scared.  If you did become serious, how would it look for you to be seen with him? It wouldn’t be okay, Emma, and I think he didn’t want to lose someone else that mattered to him.”  Graham stops himself.  “Unfortunately, he did anyway, the poor bastard,” he adds under his breath.  He looks up at Emma.  “Sorry, your highness, I just - “

“It’s okay,” she tells him.  “Ruby has said worse.”

“Ruby isn’t one of your future subjects,” Graham points out.  Emma shrugs.

“I’m not Queen yet,” she tells him, and nothing more.  Silence linger as Emma traces a pattern with the tip of her finger.  Every night, she has stared out at the lake, at the lights of the city, and she has become aware of one thing: she misses Killian deeply.  Her anger and frustration ebbs and flows like the waters of the lake lapping on the shore, but every thought uncovers one thing: she cares about him more than she originally thought, and she wants to see him again – even if it is just to talk.

“What if he didn’t lose me?” Emma asks Graham.  “Not completely.  What if I wanted to talk over things before it all becomes final.”

“I think that is the benevolent thing to do,” Graham tells her.  “And I think your mother would be proud of you.”

Emma nods, playing with her phone.  She can feel her defenses lowering as she unlocks the screens, and she knows that if this fails, then she may never let down her defenses again

...

Killian’s phone buzzes, and he ignores it, continuing to strum his guitar, fingers moving over the strings.  He throws himself into the song, singing along to Dylan’s words about watchtowers and princes, feeling the irony sharply after two beers since his own princess likes to lock her heart in a tower to keep herself safe but she’s not _his_ princess and the heart was never his to begin with. It’s only when he’s done that he checks, thinking it must be Robin asking about dinner.

“You’re so lazy,” he calls out, reaching for the phone and flipping it over, but it is from Emma, not Robin (her name makes his heart race, makes his palms sweat, why didn’t he delete this number from his phone?).  He opens the message, frowns when he sees an address.

“What are you shouting about?” Robin asks as he opens the door, music blasting from his computer.  Killian holds up the phone, lets Robin scan the message.

“That’s Regina’s parents’ place,” he tells Killian, and Killian takes a deep breath before typing something back.

**I think you sent this to me by mistake**

“I don’t think she did,” Robin argues, and the message comes back almost immediately.

**Are you questioning your princess?**

“Shit,” Killian curses under his breath.  Robin lets out a cry.

“Pack your bags, son,” he shouts as he claps Killian on the back.  “Your princess has seen fit to have an audience with you.”

Robin starts to say things about _bring_ _condoms_ and _makeup sex_ and invites himself along as a driver because technically it’s his girlfriend’s house but all that Killian can think –all that Killian can feel – is dread over Emma wanting to see him now.  Nothing good can come of this (because nothing good ever happens to him).

From Robin’s room, Killian can hear The Mountain Goats playing in the background.  He knows this song - upbeat and morose all at once - and he feels that way, and the longer he stares at the text message, the longer that he listens to Robin babbling about pizza and Regina and Emma and true love, the longer that he listens to the song, the quicker the dread that has been creeping into his stomach starts to dissipate (not completely, no way, but maybe it’s the guitars or maybe it’s the hopefulness of the song - that new beginnings are scary but they can be good, too) -

This might not be good, but it might be what he needs - the closure he hasn’t had before.

Robin is in his bathroom packing and Killian just leans against the doorframe, studying the text message again.  In the background, the song goes on:   _And I sang oh, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What do I do without you?_

He texts back.

**Absolutely not, your highness.**

He pauses, adds.

**We’re on our way.**

She texts back.

**Good.**

He can’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ohmyohpioneer, here is the official DJ Lonely Hearts (featuring DJ Robin Hood of 'Hood Rich') Wednesday Afternoon Broken Hearts Playlist: http://8tracks.com/anniegeez/dj-lonely-hearts-mix-tape


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of my readers for sticking through this story - this is a doozy of a chapter. I am horrible about responding to your reviews but please be aware that I have read them all and that I appreciate it :) I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my beta artielu.

Robin pulls into the parking garage just after midnight after getting clearance from the attendant (apparently Regina has called down and told them to expect another car in her family’s guest parking). He parks and turns off the engine, glancing over at Killian.

Killian turns to face his roommate, trying to read the expression on his face. Sad? Wary? Tired? Probably the latter, because he knows Robin had class at 10am today – yesterday? – and he did volunteer to drive. Granted, he volunteered because he knew Killian had been drinking, but still, driving all that way was nice of him (Killian will have to find some way to pay him back).

“You didn’t have to do this,” Killian says, but Robin shakes his head.

“I know you think I’m doing this so I can get laid,” he tells Killian, “but you’re only half right.”

“Oh?” Killian raises an eyebrow. “You’re only going to get half laid?”

“However laid I get, it’ll be more than you, my friend.” Robin takes off his seatbelt, turns fully to face Killian. “Look, if this turns into a shit show, just say the word and we’ll bounce. Bros before hos, man.”

“Don’t let Regina hear you say that,” Killian warns him as he takes off his own seatbelt, and he can hear Robin reply, “shit, shouldn’t have said that,” under his breath. He laughs.

Killian has no idea what to expect. Emma’s Good was the end of their communication, and he’s been nervous and fidgeting the entire drive, which resulted in Robin doing everything he could to distract him, from making him sing along to the Game of Thrones theme song (Robin’s sense of humor is….special) to Bohemian Rhapsody to I Will Wait, complete with choreography (the last one was particularly impressive and could have gotten them killed, especially when Robin took his hands off the wheel). It was a valiant effort, and it worked for some time, but his thoughts always returned to Emma, and her summons, and the way that she had looked at him when he told her the truth.

They pass through security relatively easily since Regina had told the front desk that they were coming, and the attendant lets them into the elevator and presses the button for the top floor. 

The elevator ride up to the penthouse is quiet save for background music heavy on the synths and Robin’s off-key humming of the Game of Thrones theme (again). Killian’s heart thuds in his chest and his palms grow sweaty as the elevator climbs higher and higher. Finally, when they do reach the top floor and the bell sounds, he feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Don’t throw up,” Robin remarks as he steps off the elevator into what is quite possibly the most beautiful home Killian has ever seen.  
“Honey, I’m home,” Robin calls out, throwing himself onto a white couch, and almost immediately there is the click of high heels and Regina storms out of somewhere, frowning. She’s dressed in leather pants and a black shirt that hangs off one shoulder and it looks like she’s dressed to go out. Killian frowns.

“Get your dirty boots off my parent’s couch or so help me, Robin Locksley,” Regina says as she approaches. She sniffs. “Oh my god, did you have class in the woods this week? You smell like forest.”

“We were learning how to use authentic activities in the classroom,” Robin says as he stands up, pulling her into an embrace and Killian looks away to give them some privacy. As he does, he notices Graham entering the room, looking apologetic.

“Hey,” he says, holding out a hand, which Killian takes. He doesn’t blame Graham for any of his, and he hopes that the other man knows it. 

“Look at you, all unkempt,” Regina says, coming up beside him and running her finger along his cheek (he has not exactly been shaving these days, not entirely taking care of himself). “I like it.” 

Her look becomes serious, and he notices for the first time that her earrings look like bullets. “We’re all going to get a drink, so you have the apartment to yourself, but…” Regina trails off, struggling to find the right words, and Killian just nods.

“Noted.” With a tight smile, she brushes past him, calling for Graham and Robin to join them, and as they approach the elevator behind him, he sighs.

“Killian?”

His eyes find her immediately as she stands in the hallway, silhouetted by the light, and she is every bit as glorious as he remembers – an angel, outside of his reach. He is just not entirely sure if she is an angel of mercy (or maybe, as he hears the Game of Thrones theme on repeat in his head, she is a dragon, here to burn him alive).

“Emma,” he says, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips, and she smiles shyly. 

“I’m glad you came.” She slowly (hesitantly) approaches him, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and he nods, because what else can he say? She called for him, and in his desperate state, of course he would answer.

“I’m surprised you even wanted to see me,” he admits, because all of this has been a shock to his system and he is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be pulled out from under him now that he’s regaining his footing.

He is a man in love, and he is a fool.

“We should talk,” she tells him, glancing behind him but the elevator has already left while he’s been staring at her and so they are alone in Regina’s parent’s place. She crosses the open sitting area, takes a seat on one of the large couches, and looks at him. For a moment, Killian gets a glimpse of what she will look like when the throne is hers, and it gives him goosebumps.

Killian feels apprehensive (he has been tried and convicted and is now awaiting his sentence) as he sits down on the other couch across from her, elbows resting on his thighs, his eyes only on Emma.

…

She likes the stubble.

That’s the first thing that Emma thinks when she gets a good look at Killian, freshly arrived. She likes the way that he looks – rougher, if possible, and that fits their current status because they’re both a little rough right now (her fingers itch to run across his stubble and she has to remind herself that she can’t).

It was her decision to invite him here and the minute she lays eyes on him she knows it was the right one. She missed him, deep inside, and seeing him soothes her soul, because it confirms something she had been wondering all the hours since she sent that text: how much does she care about Killian?

The answer is very, very much, because seeing him in front of her, looking so vulnerable and nothing like the confident man she first met makes her want to comfort him, protect him, make sure nothing can happen to him under her watch. She’s never felt this way about anyone before save her parents (the lingering thought that Cassidy might harm them makes her shiver in fear but she pushes it away. Now is not the time for that.). 

And so they are here right now, and Emma finds herself teetering on the dizzy edge of something new and exciting and terrifying and real at the same time, because if she feels this way about him – if she wants to forgive him like she’s planning to, if she misses him as intensely as she does and wants to never be parted from him again – then she’s not sure she’s ready for it, but it’s there anyway and she’s going to have to accept it, especially in light of what’s happened and what can happen.

She doesn’t want to think about losing him. 

Killian sits across the room, a large ottoman separating them. His hands are folded in front of him, and she’s never seen someone look this broken before. Emma wonders if it is only her that did this, and then decides it can’t be. She is just one piece of him, and she doesn’t even know how large of a piece she is.

The silence stretches between them.

“I wish you had told me from the very beginning,” she says softly, and the minute that the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them. Maybe she should have made more small talk – her mother would have. Maybe she should have said something else. 

He sighs, deeply, buries his head in his hands, and when he looks up at her, he just looks sad.  
“I wish I had as well,” he agrees, “but I was selfish. I knew you would run away if you knew who truly am, and I didn’t want to take that chance.” His voice is harsh, and she can practically feel the self-loathing from him coming off in waves, and she wants to shout at him because he is better than his mistakes – she knows he is. 

But she doesn’t.

“Maybe,” Emma says, because she’s starting to wonder if that is the case. The part of her that is the proper princess knows that she would have run hard and fast, but the part of her that is coming to know Killian, and coming to love him thinks she would have tempted fate. “Maybe not.”

“Emma!” Killian is offended at her ambivalence. “I am no fit companion for a princess - I consorted with known anarchists! I am a fugitive from justice!”

“Whose justice? Cassidy’s?” Emma shakes her head angrily. “Not my mother’s justice, and she is still head of state.” The thought that someone could be so frightened of the Prime Minister, who could be voted out at any time (not that it was likely, with what she knows now), still rankles her, as does the thought that Cassidy is trying to destroy her family and Eira, and she cannot – will not – let that destroy her or Killian too.

“Still, Emma,” Killian presses, “I was a risk to your safety and wellbeing. I kept my secret for my own selfish reasons.” His jaw clenches, and she wants to reach out and run her fingers along his face, to tell him that it will be okay.

She doesn’t.

In fact, she’s a little annoyed that he’s telling her how to feel because this is her life, but she takes a deep breath and tries to channel everything that her mother has ever taught her about kindness and compassion and hope. She smiles. “Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. I wish you had told me, but I understand why you didn’t – why you couldn’t, at first, until you came to know me better.” She pauses, and then repeats, “I understand, Killian, I really do.”

Killian looks up at her, and his entire face has transformed from a lost soul to someone who has found what they’ve been looking for: he seems in awe of her at that moment, and it makes her uncomfortable but she can’t look away because it’s him, here, and she forgives him. Being here, away from the rest of the world, has given her time and space to think and she now knows that Regina was right: how can you tell someone something like that? Especially someone you just met? She didn’t tell her roommates about her real identity for months.

She now realizes that there are secrets that are kept for selfish reasons and there are secrets that are kept because the truth can hurt you. What matters is knowing the difference. 

“Regina said something about how I needed to listen to you when you told me, instead of just hearing what I wanted to hear, and I think she’s right.” Emma twists the loose thread on her red flannel shirt, pulls it off and wraps it around her finger. “My mother would have listened, because that’s the right thing to do, but instead I just – I let my fears get the better of me. I didn’t stop to consider the bigger picture of your confession.”

“And that is?” Killian asks, and she can hear the anticipation in his voice.

“That you didn’t tell me because you had already lost so much at the hands of someone who is still out to destroy my family,” Emma tells him. “That we’re the same, you and I, and that I could lose as much as you did, if not more. Why you didn’t tell me are your own reasons, but I’m glad you finally did, because I needed to know.” The thought causes her insides to twist into knots but it is the truth that her mother might be overthrown, and she needs to accept that. It’s the sort of thing her mother would do as she planned her next move.

And if she wants to save her parents – if she wants to take down Cassidy – she’s going to need Killian to do it.

Emma has been trying to process the Cassidy situation since Killian first told her, since Graham confirmed it, since Regina stressed it that night at her apartment. It’s been too unbelievable to think about, but finally, in the hours waiting for Killian, she sat down to Google it. Graham helped her put the pieces together, assemble a coherent picture of how deep Cassidy’s treachery really was. 

And it makes her sick.

And she is not about to let one twisted little imp ruin her life, or the lives of her parents, and she certainly isn’t going to let him drive a wedge between her and Killian. 

She cares about him too much to lose him.

“Emma,” Killian says, looking at her with gentleness and care, looking at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, and she stands up, moves to sit in front of him on the ottoman. The desire to touch him, to comfort him, is too great for her to ignore. She sits close to him but not too close, her hands uncertain of what to do until she finally reaches out and places her fingers on his left arm.

“I forgive you for not telling me,” she says, staring at her fingers against his hoodie. She forgives him because she cares about him deeply, because his pain is her pain, because sometimes good people are selfish. He hurt her, but it helped her learn about herself in the end, so the hurt was worth it. “You mean too much to me.”

Killian closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands, and Emma watches his shoulders heave. Her hand slides down towards his wrist, fingers resting against the watch he always wears. She says nothing, but she does move forward and rest her other hand on his other wrist, because she needs to touch him right now.

He lifts his head to look at her, so close that she can feel his ragged breath on her lips, and she sees the tears glimmering in his eyes, the indentations on his lips from where he bit down to keep whatever was inside from tumbling out. Emma gives him a wary smile, and finally – finally – reaches out to brush her fingers against his jaw, like she has wanted to since he walked in the apartment. Touching him like this makes her whole body vibrate – with feelings, with need, with something she doesn’t quite understand.

“You’re just like your mother,” he tells her, and the comparison makes Emma smile. She has always aspired to be just like Mary-Margaret, and yet –

“Did you meet her?” she asks, and Killian nods.

“When Liam died,” he says, looking away. “There was a memorial. She came, with your father. She spoke with me for some time.” He sighs, eyes meeting hers again. “Everything I did was against Gold, not her.”

“I know.” She leans her forehead against his, strokes his cheek with her thumb. “I know.”  
They sit there for a moment, and Emma feels happy and content, their breathing in sync. But soon something grows inside of her, and she is distracted by the warmth of his body, the smell of him, the feeling of him right here with her after so many days of being without him. She missed this. She missed them.

Emma leans back slightly so that she can see him, see the question in his eyes. She runs her thumb over his bottom lip, following the movement with her eyes, and then, she leans forward to kiss him.

She hears his gasp, feels his hesitation and then his careful acceptance of her action, the way that he leans in to the kiss as well. She can feel his hand come up to stroke her jaw, the dent of her chin, the apple of her cheek, and she pulls back, wanting to see him (the minute they part, the loss of him is too much).

“I don’t know if that was a good idea,” Killian warns her, and Emma shakes her head.

“I wanted to,” she tells him. 

He raises an eyebrow, and chuckles, and then she leans in again. 

This time, neither of them is gentle.

Killian’s hand is in her hair, her hand on his thigh as she leans forward, kissing him hungrily, thinking I want him I need him I trust him. Her other hand, the one that was on his cheek, finds its way into his hair, fingers twisting the dark strands, marveling at their softness. He makes a noise in the back of his throat which she swallows up in her passion, and then his arms are around her, pulling her towards him so that she’s straddling his hips. She can’t help it – she whimpers, claws at his shoulders, tries to get closer to him. After so long without him, she can’t get enough, doesn’t want to stop because she has been thinking about this, the touch of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, for the entire week, in the darkest moments of her mind when she knew she shouldn’t think about him but she couldn’t help it. No one has made her feel this way, like she is on fire, burning up from the inside out, ready to burst into flame with every movement of his hand across her back, every brush of his fingers through her hair.

A thought occurs to her – having him granted clemency by her mother and taking him to state dinners and not having to hide and being able to kiss him when she wants to and –

“Bedroom,” she whispers as his lips find her neck and pepper it with soft kisses. 

Killian sits back, runs a hand through his hair, clearly dazed.

“Are you sure?” he asks. Emma nods shakily. She stands up, her legs feeling weak (she has become a cliché), her breathing erratic. 

“Am I sure that Regina’s parents probably have this room on surveillance? Yeah. Come on,” she says, and even though she expects it to dampen the mood, it doesn’t. He just pulls her towards him and kisses her like he never wants to stop, but when he does – reluctantly – pull away, he just brushes the hair out of her face with a smile (the stubble makes him look roguish and dashing at once and she loves it).

“Let me grab my bag,” he tells her.

Emma waits for him, leading him to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. She hears the bag drop on the floor, and then his hands are on her hips, pulling her back against him. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close, and she can’t help it – she’s never felt this way, like everything is wrapped up with him, like everything she wants is in him. 

She slips out of his embrace, grabbing his hands in her own and threading her fingers through his. She smiles and then laughter bubbles out of her because he is here and he is with her and nothing has ever felt this amazing, ever, than this moment.

“What?” he asks, “are you laughing at me?” His voice is light, and he is a completely different person than earlier, no longer broken but like her, light as air. She wonders if they’re both going mad, if this isn’t some sort of sleep-deprived haze that she’s operating in, making her act in questionable ways. There is a part of her that knows that she might be rushing into this renewed intimacy with him, but the rest of her feels as if it is the logical culmination of everything that has happened.

“No,” Emma tells him. “I’m just…I’m happy. You make me happy.”

“That’s all I want,” he tells her, pulling her close and wrapping her arms around her again. “All I want is for you to be happy.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her chin, and finally, softly against her lips. Emma gives up everything to the feeling of his strong body against hers, the gentle movement of his lips, the careful way that his cradles her head in his hands. Every single fiber of her being feels alive in ways that it hasn’t before, every single inch of her focused solely on Killian.

Suddenly, all of the conflicting thoughts in her head reduce themselves to one thought: the reminder that even though his past and her future loom over them, difficult and daunting, what exists between them - what exists between Killian and Emma – is relatively uncomplicated. 

“You’re all I want,” she whispers, the feeling of need overwhelming her. She closes her eyes, feeling his hands hesitate on her body, feeling his silent concern become a question.

They haven’t gone this far, not yet, and there are moments when she nervously thinks of what might happen if they were to, well, do it. Her experience with Walsh was one matter, and the thought that mere minutes after forgiving Killian for concealing his past from her, she’s got him in her bedroom. But she’s forgiven him, and they’ve moved on, and maybe this is part of it. Regardless, she wants him and she needs him to show her just how much he wants her.

Emma steps back and pushes him onto the bed. He falls with a bounce before sitting up. He pulls her towards him and rests his head against her chest, below her breastbone  
.  
“I’m surprised you still want me,” he tells her, words vibrating against her skin, through her shirt, and she runs her fingers through his hair. 

She doesn’t know what to say to ease his soul, so she gently pushes him back onto the bed, and chooses to show him instead (her father has always said that actions speak louder than words). Killian falls back with a quiet “oof” and Emma smiles. She crawls over him slowly, stopping when her hands are pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, her hair falling down around them like a curtain. He smiles up at her, raw and beautiful, and her heart surges inside of her chest.

“You are the most glorious thing I have ever seen,” Killian tells her, reaching his hand up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger, and she smiles at him, overwhelmed by his words.

She angles her head down, claims his lips with her own, enjoying the way that their tongues brush against each other. The kiss starts easy but grows in intensity; soon, his hands are on her hips, pulling her towards him, and she rolls her hips against his growing hardness.

They have done things in the past with their hands, because Emma has been apprehensive and uncertain, but she has let Killian touch her and coax sighs from her lips, and now, feeling his arousal pressed against her, she wants more. He may not have been upfront about his past, but he has never betrayed her when it has come to this, to what happens between them in this private space, and it occurs to Emma that she trusts him in a way that she has never trusted anyone else.

She leans back, fingers reaching for the fly of his jeans, enjoying the way that his eyes are heavy-lidded and yet bright, the small twist of a smile on his mouth. But when she reaches for him, slipping her fingers inside of his pants, he puts a hand on hers to stop her.

“You’ve given me too much – let me give you something,” he insists, and Emma can’t find it in her to argue. 

Killian rolls her over without a second thought and his mouth finds her neck, leaving open-mouth kisses from jaw to collarbone, a trail of sensation in its wake. His fingers trace gentle patterns on her ribcage, on the undersides of her breasts, feather-light so that she’s arching into him, wanting more. 

“You look amazing in red,” Killian says, awe clear in his voice, as his fingers work the buttons of her shirt, “pity that it needs to come off,” helping her remove the garment before touching and tasting her shoulders, the swell of her breasts above her bra. He removes it carefully, slowly, and then his mouth is on her and she threads her fingers into his hair, pulls him towards her, appreciating the rasp of his stubble on her sensitive skin.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers, and Emma can’t help but nod. She trusts him with her in a way that she’s never trusted anyone before, and he needs to know that. 

“Yes,” she says, her voice rough and raspy to her own ears, but Killian looks relieved. He nods.  
He eases her out of her jeans, pulling them off of her legs and then her underwear follows.

Every sensation causes her hips to move – the brush of his lips against her knee, the way that he caresses her thigh with his hand, and then finally, he settles his head between her legs.

Emma looks down at him, hesitant for only a moment. He looks at her for permission, which she gives with a nod of her head, before he leans forward. She feels his breath on her skin and then...

No one has ever done this to her before, so she’s not sure what it should feel like (Walsh was quick and dirty and painful and horrible but this is none of those things). At first it is strange, to have someone touch her – taste her (how does she even taste?) – in such an intimate way, but then his tongue brushes against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and she lets out a sharp gasp. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, his question vibrating through her, and Emma nods, then realizes he probably can’t see her.

“I liked that,” she tells him, surprised at how breathless she sounds.

“Good,” Killian responds, and then his mouth is back on her and it’s better than before. She can’t help it – she cards her fingers through his hair, pulls when he hits that spot again, making him groan against her (he likes that, she’s learning, he likes her hands in his hair) and his pace increases. Emma tries to process all that she feels, this strange new feeling that is so very good, and that’s before he adds his fingers.

She already knew she liked that, but in tandem – her breath catches in her throat, and she may just pull his hair a little harder (he seems to like that even more than just hands in his hair). Soon she is shattering, her legs trembling, her heels digging into the comforter, and she’s never felt this before, so boneless, so relaxed, so comfortable with someone doing these things to her (she never thought it would be possible to feel this way, not after Walsh). But it’s easy between them, the way that they are with each other, the amount of trust that she has for him to be careful with her.

She comes back to her senses through Killian pressing kisses against the inside of her thighs before making his way back up the bed, wiping his face against the comforter, and she smiles as she wraps her arms around him and draws him towards her. She kisses the corner of his mouth, hands moving slowly across his shoulders. 

“You have too many clothes on.” Her fingers reach for the hem of his shirt, splaying across the warmth skin of his belly, brushing against the hair of his chest.

“Emma, you don’t have – “ he protests, and of course he would, of course he would give her such pleasure and refuse himself (she can feel him, still insistent, pressed against her thigh).

“I want to,” she insists, because she does. She has never wanted to be closer to someone than she does, right now, with him, wants to lose herself in him and forget where he ends and she begins, wants to feel everything with him in this moment, right now.

“You may regret it in the morning,” Killian warns, but Emma knows she will not. This is not an idle indulgence, this is something more than that. 

“Do you trust me?” she asks, and his blue eyes fix on her warily as he studies her face. And then he nods, and she arches up, ready to capture his lips once more, but he shifts, slides off the bed, and Emma frowns. He rifles around in his bag for something before returning and placing a foil packet on the bedside table.

“I’m not saying that –“ he says, scratching behind his ear, and she smiles at his nervous tic. “Robin made me pack them.”

“Oh really?” Emma asks, shifting against the bed. There is a moment where she panics, worries that Killian has been talking about them to his roommate, but Regina’s words about Robin’s loyalty to Killian come to mind. If Killian told anyone, maybe Robin was the best person to tell. She doubts that he’ll sell her out to the tabloids.

Killian shrugs awkwardly, and she’s never been more attracted to him right now.

“He thought we would have make-up sex and no pressure, Emma, I didn’t imply anything and I packed it to humor him - you know I would wait for you as long – “

She grabs his hand and pulls him back down towards her, and they do not talk for some time. Instead, she explores his body as she removes his clothes, memorizing the way that he groans when she reaches for him, the way that he looks at her with eager anticipation that must be reflected in her own eyes. When she reaches for the condom, and opens the foil packet, he watches her with a guarded gaze which disappears as she fumbles to put it on (she rolls it on the wrong way first, then remembers the lecture her RA gave them last month about safe sex and she’s only done this once before and feels her face flush because she has no idea what she is doing, but his hand strokes her cheek and the understanding on his face makes her kiss him) but then she is sinking down onto him, appreciating the feeling of fullness, of being with him.

There is awkwardness in their movements – she has only does this once, and thinking about how many times Killian might have done this makes her bite her lip and look away, comparing herself against those more experienced women, but his hand on her hip guides her and his other hand angles her head back to his face, fingers brushing against her jaw.

“Absolutely glorious,” he whispers, and she begins to see how amazing this can be if the person you do this with is someone you care deeply about.

They find a rhythm, and Emma loses herself in it, in the feeling of him and the sound of their breathing, harsh and ragged in her ears, the sound of her heartbeat, the thrum of his pulse underneath her palm. As she falls, and he follows, she thinks once again of how easy it is to be this – to be them. 

…

Killian brushes the hair back from Emma’s face and pulls her close, focusing on her heavy breathing, the racing of her heart underneath his fingertips, the brush of her hair on his oversensitive skin, the weight of her in his arms. He has never been more aware than he is right now, senses on overdrive as she shifts closer, burrows deeper into his embrace.

He feels like he has been tossed around like a boat in a story, his emotions overtaking him one wave after another: relief, that she has forgiven him; joy, at the events of the past evening; regret, for creating this whole mess to begin with; dread, at what might happen in the future (there is a part of him that worries that he is passing through the eye of the storm, and that he will soon be thrown overboard). 

“Hi,” Emma says, her warm breath blowing across collarbone, making him shiver. 

“Hi yourself,” he responds, shifting. There is still the condom to take care of, and he is thirsty. “Give me a minute.”

He slips out of the warmth of her arms into the cool of the bathroom. Regina’s parent’s penthouse is massive – the guest bathroom alone is the size of his bedroom at home – and he manages to find clean towels in a linen closet. He cleans himself up, washes his face, and looks at his reflection in the mirror. There is a smile lingering on his lips because of Emma, and he is eager to get back to her and her embrace. 

There is a small part of Killian that is surprised that she forgave him (the rest is just relieved). He knows that there is nothing that can be kept secret between them anymore, and he does not intend to hurt her again. Emma’s heart is a precious thing, and he hopes that he still has the opportunity to win it completely, and that will require trust between them. He is grateful that she has forgiven him, because he’s never felt this way before about someone. He has never felt more comfortable around another person – not since Liam, and he appreciates the way that, when Emma lets him in, things are better. 

As Killian hangs the towel up to dry, he thinks about how this will not be easy. Emma is to be the queen, and he is not exactly welcome in Eira as long as Cassidy has some modicum of power. But he knows, despite all of it, that he would do anything for her. He still feels like that little boy watching the royal family on the parade route, like the young soldier swearing his oath to his queen. He loves her with the devotion that a man shows a woman, and he will protect her with the devotion that a man promises his queen. 

When he returns, Emma slips out of the bed and brushes past him, hand trailing against his arm, closing the bathroom door before he can fully appreciate her beauty (she is a marvel, and he is incredibly lucky that she trusted him enough with her body, with her pleasure, because he doesn’t think he will get tired of being with her, hearing her sighs and moans and knowing that he has made her feel that way). He goes to his bag and pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a worn WOUT t-shirt, and then heads over to the large TV mounted against the opposite wall. He grabs the nearby remote and starts flicking through the channels, stopping when the door reopens and Emma exits, wearing a pajama pants and a tank top.

He can’t help but smile, and she shyly returns it, coming to wrap her arms around him, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“Hey – stop,” she says, glancing at the TV behind him. He looks over to see that The Princess Bride has just started to run. “Do you remember when we watched that together?”

Killian nods. “I should have told you then. I’m sorry I didn’t.” He should have been honest when he had the chance. Emma shrugs, letting go of him to walk back towards the bed. She sits down at the foot of it and looks at him.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “I know now what Cassidy will do to those who oppose him.” There is a glint of steel in Emma’s eyes, and Killian wonders just what the girl he loves is capable of (just what can Emma do when her parents’ lives are on the line?). 

“Cassidy is not a man to be trifled with, Emma,” Killian warns her, walking back to join her on the bed. “He is ruthless.”

“He’s just a man like any other,” Emma says flippantly. “He’s a politician. I am the future queen. I won’t let him destroy my family and my country.” There is anger in her voice, and Killian reaches out, threads his fingers through hers on the comforter.

“Whatever need you have of me, I will be there for you,” he tells her. He has contacts still in Eira – people who knew Milah, who still work against Gold and who could give him information if he requested it. Whatever Emma wants, he will find for her. 

She glances down at their joined hands, and then back up at him. Her expression softens from hateful to mournful, and she squeezes his hand.

“Will you tell me about your brother?” she asks, her voice quiet, and Killian takes a deep breath.   
Talking about Liam has gotten easier over time, but there is now a fresh new sadness, now that Emma has asked (Liam would have loved her as a person, not just as his future Queen, and the fact that they will never met weighs heavy on his soul). 

“He was the best man I ever knew,” Killian starts, smiling as he remembers his brother’s smile and his stubbornness, his commitment to Killian and to the Crown. “He raised me as a boy – my father abandoned our family, and my mother was always ill. She died shortly before I started my service. Liam was career military. He thought that there was nothing more important than serving his country and he was fiercely loyal to the Crown. He thought that honor was the highest form of all.” Killian takes a deep breath. “And that’s why Gold had him killed – because he wouldn’t be bought. Because he believed it would be bad form to give up his principles for some material comfort.” 

The amount of money that Gold paid the ranking officers was enough that Liam could have bought a lovely house near the lake, like he always planned, but Killian knows that no monetary lapse of judgment would have sat easy with his brother. Honor was important to him (and Killian has done little to keep his memory alive, with his cowardice and his single-minded focus on revenge - )

“Hey.” Emma’s hand is on his arm, freeing him from his thoughts. “He sounds like a great guy. I’m sorry I never got to meet him.” The look on her face is kind and understanding, and once again he is lucky that he has found her. Her presence next to him does much to chase away the demons that possess him, that linger in his mind when he thinks about Eira, and all that he lost.

Killian nods. “He was. He really was. He would have given his life to protect you.”

“In some ways, he already did,” Emma points out. “If he hadn’t died, would you have found out about Cassidy?”

“I don’t know,” Killian admits. “By the time he reached lower-ranked men like me, most of the military would have been in his pocket.” It’s a thought he doesn’t like to consider, but Emma is right. Maybe Liam’s death was like the canary in the coal mine, warning them of trouble.

Emma scoots closer, rests her head on his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, but her very action speaks for her intention, and Killian wraps his arm around her and holds her, resting his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Talking about Liam is harder than talking about Milah (he wonders if she will ever ask, and if he will ever tell her) because Liam was his whole life, and Milah…she came afterwards, and she became his life, but his brother was his world for so long that the loss of him was like Killian had died as well. 

Emma shifts in his arms, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Thank you for telling me,” she says, thumbs caressing his cheek, soothing him. 

“Of course.” He would tell her anything about him if she only asked; he will not hide his past from her again.

Emma turns to the screen, and Killian watches a smile play across her lips as the Dread Pirate Roberts battles wits with Vizzini. He likes seeing her happy.

“I’m thirsty,” she says, glancing over at him with a smirk. “Fetch me some water?” 

He leans forward to kiss her first, distracted by her lips, and before he can let her pull him under (her hands are already in his hair – she is learning what he likes quickly) he sighs and leans back. 

Standing up, he gives her a mock bow. “As you wish,” he tells her with a wink, and is rewarded with a peal of laughter as Emma flops back onto the bed. She kicks her leg out towards him but he grabs her foot instead, running his thumb along her ankle. Emma blinks, smile settling on her face, and he knows there must be one on his as well.

“You’re such a dork,” she tells him, and he lets go of her foot, shaking his head. “Takes one to know one, princess,” he teases as he leaves the room (he hears the sound of something – a pillow – hitting the wall behind him, but he doesn’t turn around, just closes the door behind him, feeling better than he has all week.

He’s not entirely sure he wants to explore Regina’s home at night, but there is a light from the kitchen so he approaches it cautiously (he’s stumbled onto Robin and Regina in flagrante more times than he can count, and he wants to avoid that if at all possible).

It’s only Robin, seated at the kitchen island, eating what appears to be ice cream. When he sees Killian approach, a wide grin spreads across to his face.

“Did my advice pan out?” he asks, and Killian rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be a dick,” he tells Robin as he heads towards the cabinets. “Any idea where the glasses are?”

“Try the one on your left,” Robin instructs him before returning to his ice cream. “So you have kissed and made up?”

Killian finds two glasses and takes them to the fridge, where he slowly fills them with water from the dispenser in the door. There is silence as Robin continues to eat his ice cream, and Killian finishes filling the glasses. 

Breaking the silence, he says, “She appears to have forgiven me.” He watches the water flow into the glasses, waiting for Robin’s response.

“I’m glad, Killian.” When he glances over at his roommate, the look on Robin’s face is sincere, and that makes Killian feel better.

“I am too,” Killian says quietly. Then, he looks up at Robin curiously. “What are you doing out here?”

Robin finishes his ice cream and licks the spoon, a Cheshire Cat-like grin spreading across his face. “Regina’s getting ready.”

“For what – oh.” Killian watches as Robin raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. 

“What can I say? Apparently my lady has some sexy intimate apparel that she hasn’t shown me yet in her bedroom, and I am nothing if not a gentleman who follows my lady’s wishes.”

The thought of lingerie turns Killian’s thoughts to Emma, and what she might look like in - 

“Robin?” Regina’s voice carries down the hallway, and Robin smiles.

“My lady awaits,” he tells Killian, standing and opening the dishwasher to put his bowl and spoon inside. He pats Killian on the shoulder as he walks by, and Killian just shakes his head, finding his own way back to Emma’s room.

She is asleep when he enters, curled on her side facing away from the door, so he quietly places the water on the bedside table. He turns off the TV and lights, then slips into bed with her. Tentatively, he slides his arms around her, pulling her close to him and curling his body around hers. The feel of her in his arms is overwhelming - earlier today he thought he would never see her again, let alone talk to her, and to be here, now - 

She shifts in her sleep. “Killian?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep, and he presses a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

“I’m here, love,” he responds, voice loud in the quiet space.

“Good,” she says, sighing contentedly. Her words echo in his mind, and he keeps thinking, Good good good as he falls asleep.

…

When Emma wakes, morning light is already pouring into the bedroom. She shifts, feeling something strong around her, weighing her down, and soft snoring beside her ear. The events of last night come back to her slowly – Killian’s arrival, their conversation, their reconciliation – as she stretches her legs, flexing her toes against the ultra-luxe sheets. 

“Good morning,” Killian’s voice is gravely as he stirs, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. She turns in his arms, rests her chin against his chest and looks up at his gloriously ruffled hair and heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Good morning,” she replies, reaching her hand up to play with his hair. He rolls his eyes and she can’t help but grin, because he is adorably gruff when barely awake. 

“What time is it?” he asks, and Emma shifts off of him, flops onto her stomach and reaches across the bed for her phone on the bedside table. She turns it on with a slight touch.

“Shit – it’s nearly noon,” she tells him, shutting off the phone and throwing it back towards the table, ready to crawl back into Killian’s arms. It bounces off and lands on the floor with a loud thud, and Killian laughs. 

Emma rolls over onto her back, looks at him. She likes waking up next to him, likes how comfortable she feels with him, and an idea pops into her head. 

“We should probably get up.” Emma says, sliding off the bed and standing up. She grabs the hem of her tank top, watches Killian’s eyes widen as she starts to raise it. “I’m going to shower – you’re welcome to join me.” And then she takes off her tank top, and drops it on the floor. 

(Killian joins her in the bathroom before she can finish taking off her pajama pants, and they stumble into the shower together, lost in each other’s embrace. She enjoys the feeling of his wet skin beneath her fingertips, the taste of shampoo on his lips as she tugs his hair and kisses him, the ridges of the tiles against her back as he presses her against the shower wall. His hand slides down her stomach and stops between her thighs, fingers working her carefully, thoroughly, and her own hands find him, watching him shudder under her ministrations.

Needless to say, it takes them some time to get clean.)

When they finally get dressed and leave the bedroom to get food (otherwise, she would stay in the room all day but her stomach says otherwise), they find the others in the living room, watching tv. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauties,” Regina calls from the couch, her legs across Robin’s lap. She’s playing with her phone while Graham and Robin watch football, and when Killian sees that the game is on, he gravitates towards the tv, running his hand down her spine as he turns, and Emma can’t help but react, just a little, to the movement.

“You guys hungry?” Regina asks Emma, who nods, and then the other girl is jumping off the couch, heading to the kitchen. Emma follows her, looking back at Killian who is looking at her with happiness in his eyes, before ducking his head and taking a seat in a nearby chair.

Emma follows Regina into the kitchen. Neither of them say anything as Regina pulls out the fixings for sandwiches and starts to cut up tomatoes. 

“Would you mind getting the plates?” she asks, and Emma nods. When she returns to the kitchen island with them, Regina messes with lunchmeat and condiments for a while before speaking.

“So I take it thinks are okay?” she asks cautiously, and Emma grabs some bread to make sandwiches for her and Killian.

“I think so,” she admits, and Regina just hums. “Thanks, by the way.”

Regina stops spreading mayo on a sandwich, looks up at Emma with a frown. “For what?”

“For everything,” Emma tells her. “For telling me about Daniel, and all that stuff about secrets and relationships. For bringing me here. For listening.” She pauses. “For being my friend.”

A look crosses Regina’s face, and she studies the ham and turkey carefully before responding. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re happy.” She pauses. “You are happy, right?”

Emma can’t help but beam. She thinks about Killian, their night together and this morning, the way that she feels when he touches her or looks at her, and she nods. “I am. I really am.”

They spend the day watching college football (their school wins a close game with their rival, and even Graham is incredibly involved in the match-up). They celebrate with beer on the patio and as Emma watches the sunset in Killian’s arms, enjoying the way that his fingers stroke up and down her forearm, she can’t help but feel incredibly happy.

They make plans to head back to school the next day – fall break is that coming weekend, and both Robin and Killian have work that’s due right before – and Emma grows nervous at the thought of returning to her dorm room. 

The entire situation will Belle does not sit easy with her. It’s one thing for Killian to not tell her his past; it is another for someone to pose as her friend, give out romantic advice, and conceal an identity. She knows that she should be more understanding – Belle is hardly the first bodyguard that Emma’s had – but there’s something about the situation that really bothers her and she’s not sure she can express it in words, just a feeling.

She asks Killian if she can crash with him for a couple days (she feels safe with him, and they haven’t been able to keep their hands to themselves when alone anyway, so the thought of more time with him is intoxicating). 

“Of course,” he tells her, “but check with Graham first.”

Broaching the subject with Graham makes Emma nervous, but she does it anyway. They are waiting for the others, ready to drive home (she will ride with Regina again, because she’s not really sure she wants to be in an enclosed space with Killian since the need to touch him is strong) and so they linger outside of the elevator.

“Would it be okay if I crashed with Killian for a while? I don’t know if I’m ready to face Belle yet,” she tells Graham, hoping he won’t be disappointed. Instead, he nods, agreeing almost immediately. 

“I trust him to keep you safe,” he tells her. 

“Thank you,” she says, “for everything. I’m sorry I’m such a bratty princess.”

Graham laughs. “You’re actually not that bad, your highness. I don’t think I would have handled these same events the way that you have.” There is a softness – an admiration – in his eyes and in his tone, and it makes Emma feel better. 

She smiles. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

Graham bows slightly. “It is my honor to serve your family.”

The ride home in the car with Graham and Regina isn’t bad (she blows up Killian’s phone with texts and Regina just keeps turning up the volume of the car stereo) but eventually they make it back to campus, and Emma asks that they stop at Robin and Killian’s apartment first (she is not sure if she will ever be ready to see Belle).

Belle, however, is waiting for them outside the door. She’s been leaning against the wall and she straightens up, bows her head when Emma approaches. She’s dressed in dark pants and boots, and a military-like jacket in khaki that makes her look more like a bodyguard and less like Emma’s roommate. Emma starts, shocked, her pulse racing her when she sees her.

“Your highness,” she says, “please forgive me, but I’m here on urgent business.”

“Explain, then,” Emma responds, her legs feeling weak. Killian seems to notice, and he wraps an arm around her back – either as a protective measure of one of support, she’s not sure.

Belle shifts on her feet, looking nervous. “Your mother has requested that you return home. There is a plane waiting for you on the airfield. I am to take you and Lieutenant Humbert there immediately. Captain Zwerg will stay here to settle accounts then meet us back in Sagobok when he is finished.”

Emma is shocked by Belle’s words – why would her mother request her presence? Unless there is an emergency…her thoughts starts to spin out of control, fear for her mother surging through her. She turns to Graham, who must be having similar thoughts (he looks concerned, and worried, and just a bit frightened). 

There is a silver lining, though, she realizes as Killian’s hand rubs her back; he is here, and she can bring him with her. She can get a royal pardon. She can have him tell her mother about all of the things that Cassidy has done and they can bring him down. 

She turns to Killian. “You’re coming too,” she says, “we can talk to my mother about everything.”

Killian stares at Emma, open-mouthed, unsure, and she smiles, squeezes his hand.

“My mother can grant you clemency,” she says softly. “Please?”

He merely nods and lets go of her hand, brushing by Belle to go into the apartment. Emma turns to Regina and Robin.

“Come with us – it’s the least I can do to thank you for all of your help,” she tells them both. Regina looks wary, but Robin reacts immediately.

“Free trip to a foreign country? I’m down – let me get my passport,” Robin says, darting into the apartment. Emma looks back at Regina.

“Do you have your – ?”

“Of course I do – I carry it with me at all times.” When she notices Emma’s raised eyebrows, she smiles sheepishly and says, “My mother always raised her girls to be ready in case a wealthy European millionaire wanted to whisk us off to a tropical island.” Regina shrugs. “It only happened the one time, but I still keep a packed back in my car just in case.”

From behind her, Graham mouths, once? and Emma just stares at Regina, mouth slightly agape. 

“Well in that case,” she finally responds when she finds her voice, “I guess we’re going to Eira.”


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for all the reviews for this story. I am the worst at responding to them, but please know that I read every one of them and that I do care :)

Regina stares at her phone, thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button.   The message is nothing complicated – just letting her dad know that she’s going to be abroad for fall break, that she loves him, that she’ll bring him back something European – but she doesn’t know if she should send it.

For starters, she doesn’t need Cora to start coming up with scenarios in her head about why her daughter is in Europe. She also doesn’t know if she _should_ tell anyone – she’s had a crash-course in international politics in the last few days, and things are a lot more tense than she ever knew. And now she’s flying – willingly – into the maelstrom.

Regina has a history of sudden and rash decisions, but this is the one that seems the most rash (the part of her that is Cora’s daughter knows that she can’t just turn down a princess, but the part of her that values self-preservation above all else wonders what she might be getting herself into).

She stares at the screen longer, and suddenly there is a tap on her window – Graham. Regina lowers it with a frown.

“What’s up?” she asks. She had dropped Emma and her crew off at Emma’s dorm and was just waiting for them to finish packing before taking them to the airport (her own bag is still packed and ready in the trunk).

“Would you mind coming upstairs for a moment?” Graham shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, and Regina notices that tension that’s been in his jaw since they got back to town is still there.

Regina nods, raises the window and shuts off her car.   She follows him into the building, the loud honk of her horn as she locks her car echoing in the silent block of residence halls. It is Sunday afternoon, not even three, and most students are probably scattered around campus or in their rooms, studying (or not - she remembers her own freshman year all too well).

“Emma taking her sweet time?” she asks, more to make conversation than anything else. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat as Graham leads her into the building. He sighs as he opens the door to the stairs.

“I assume so,” he tells her, indicating that she should go first. Regina wraps her coat around her and shifts her bag on her shoulder. “Second floor.”

Graham’s room is small and neat and antiseptic – there is nothing about the room that would indicate that someone lives here. This isn’t surprising to Regina; after spending several days with him, she knows that his job is his life, that he cares very deeply about what he is doing and who is protecting. It makes her feel marginally better, to know that Graham cares so much, but she doesn’t think that just caring is enough anymore.

The tension in his shoulders is still there when he closes the door behind them, making Regina nervous. “Finally taking advantage of being alone, Eye Candy?” she asks, trying to break that tension, and Graham barks out a laugh.

“You discovered my plan,” he tells her, and she notices that some of the stress seems to have gone out of his face.   He locks the door behind them and then turns to the safe in the corner of the room. He drops into a crouch, enters the combination, and opens it.

When he pulls out a gun, Regina’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. It’s when Graham turns to her and asks, “Can you shoot?” that she’s truly shocked.

Regina nods. Her father likes to duck hunt every year (they go every Thanksgiving just the two of them - Cora hates it and Regina loves it and it’s as good a way to network as golf, he swears) and so both his daughters had licenses from a young age. Zelena always enjoyed it more than Regina ever did, but Robin also likes to hunt, and one of their first official dates was to a shooting range (she still remembers the thrill of having his hands on her hips, the suggestive way that he positioned her to line up with the target).  

“I’m not very good,” she admits, “but I’ve got a license.”

Graham holds it out to her and takes it. “Sig Sauer, 9mm, military issue,” he tells her. “I want you to take it with you to Eira.”

Regina feels the weight of it (it’s lighter than she would have expected, but she’s mostly handled hunting rifles and Robin’s Berretta at the range that one time). “Can I bring this with me to a foreign country?”

“It’s not yours,” Graham reminds her, and Regina rolls her eyes as she checks the safety because that’s obvious.

“Like that makes it any better,” she points out. “Any drugs you need me to smuggle too?”

Graham rolls his eyes, and Regina stares at the gun in her hands, the cold metal glowing strangely in the incandescent overhead light.  

“I need to ask something of you,” Graham starts. “I know it’s a lot to ask –“

“You want me to use this if someone threatens the princess,” Regina says immediately. She knew the minute he opened the gun safe what was going to happen, but saying it out loud makes it real. The gun feels so very cold in her hands, and there’s ice running through her veins. “I thought being friends with royalty meant invites to galas and outrunning paparazzi. I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“It shouldn’t be ‘like this’,” Graham tells her. “I shouldn’t have to worry that the princess is walking into a trap, or that her mother will be deposed. I should worry about stalkers and drunk frat boys, not this.” Graham shakes his head. “But life isn’t fair, not for the princess or not for us.”

“Agreed,” Regina tells him, slipping the gun into her purse. “What about Killian and Robin?”

“I’ve already texted Killian,” Graham says, reaching back into the safe. He pulls out some magazines, hands them to Regina before reaching back in and grabbing another gun and a holster. “I need you to take this to him - I don’t want to give it to him on the plane.”

“What if the plane doesn’t wait for us?” Regina asks, and Graham cracks as the first smile she’s seen in some time.

“Emma’s not going to leave without Killian,” he points out, which is true. Those two have been joined at the groin for the past day and while Regina has to admit it’s rather cute (she’s glad the princess listened to her, even if it took a couple days for the advice to permeate her thick skull), she also knows that Emma won’t go anywhere without him, which is probably good, considering he’s ex- military and the second-best protection she’ll have if shit hits the fan (Regina knows she sure as hell isn’t).

“I wish I had a better feeling about this, but I don’t,” Graham says, and Regina adjusts her purse straps. The guns in her bag feel like they weigh a thousand pounds.

“I can’t blame you,” Regina tells him.   She shifts, glances at the door. “I’ll see you at the airport.”

The walk out of the dorm is the longest walk of Regina’s life. She is certain that every single person whose path is crosses on the way to her car – there are six, total – have to know about the guns in her purse, the cloud of doom hovering over her head as her heels click across the pavement. The sun is so bright that she puts her shades on as she slides into her car, resting her bag on the passenger seat delicately, like she is afraid a bunch of unloaded guns will go off.

Her hands are shaking as she puts her keys into the ignition, and it occurs to Regina that she has never been more frightened in her life.

There is a moment, before she pulls out of the parking lot, where she thinks about storming back up to Graham’s room and telling him to fuck off, and then dropping some truth bombs on her royal highness. She doesn’t owe any of them shit - this is not her war.

But there is a part of her that believes in giving things the benefit of the doubt (that part is all her father, not her mother; Cora’s voice in her says that there is an obvious benefit to having a princess in her debt). This might just be an overreaction after all, and she can give the gun back to Graham once they land.

She’s not sure which voice is louder as she pulls up to the stop sign and turns left out of the parking lot.

The drive to Robin and Killian’s apartment is even longer, and she walks right in without knocking, carefully places the purse on the countertop, and finds the vodka that Robin keeps under the sink. She drinks straight from the bottle, and when she swallows and returns the bottle to the counter, she’s not surprised to find both Killian and Robin watching her.

“There are two guns in my purse,” Regina tells them. “Which of you is bringing his own?”

Robin raises his hand meekly, and it almost makes her feel better knowing that Robin will have his own gun.

She looks at Killian. “That friend of yours is a trip.”

Killian does not look happy. If anything, he looks worse than Graham, probably nervous and sick to his stomach, and Regina wonders how he will survive the flight. She’s already looked it up and it’ll take them about nine hours (if they leave here at 4, they won’t get there until after midnight their time, which is something like 7am in Eira and that’s not counting stops or refueling).

“Look,” Regina says, hands curling around the bottle’s neck, “I don’t walk into situations without a plan - or at least an exit strategy.” She takes another swig. “Princess Barbie is taking her sweet time packing so I suggest the three of us come up with something before we get into a small metal canister with a bunch of weapons and a member of a royal family that may lose her throne.”

Robin is opening her purse, taking out the guns and studying them. He whistles low as he examines the Sig Sauer, glancing over at Killian whose face grows pale. Killian places his hands on the countertop, eyeing the vodka. When Regina holds it out to him, he shakes his head.

“I need to be alert,” he tells her, and so she shrugs and takes another swig. He glances at her before pushing off the counter, turning and heading towards his bedroom.

Robin rounds the counter, resting his hand against Regina’s back. Just the touch of him makes the stress in her body drop tremendously, and she leans against him, focusing on the way that his fingers run up and down her spine as she turns her head into his neck, inhaling sharply (he smells like pine and Gain laundry detergent and she loves that about him, has always been comforted by the smell of him long before they were anything other than friends).

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” she asks, and she feels him shrug against her.

“Fuck if I know,” he admits. “Fighting against tyranny?”

Regina laughs. “We’re going to get ourselves killed, aren’t we?” The thought is heavy in her heart, because they could be killed – a stray bullet, standing in the way of this asshat that’s taking over Emma’s country – or arrested for bring guns in, or for entering with a known felon (is Killian a known felon?).

“Ever the pessimist,” Robin tells her, brushing a kiss against her head. There is movement in the hallway – Killian returning with a black duffle bag. He puts it on the counter, riffling through it before he finds a small black notebook and a phone.

“Burner?” Robin asks, and Killian nods.

“Should work internationally – I keep everything together in case Gold finds me and I need to run,” Killian says, and Regina wonders how long he’s been living in fear of something like this. He opens the notebook and flicks through it until he finds a page. He rips out the page and slips it into the pocket of his jeans. He slips the phone into the pocket as well.

“You’re absolutely right, Regina,” he says, looking up at her with earnestness in his eyes. “We can’t trust anyone in Eira, not until we get to the palace and maybe not then either. I have some contacts, but if something happens and we’re ambushed, we need to be prepared.” He swallows. “We need to get Emma to safety.”

“I don’t want to be Captain Obvious here but what if this is no big deal?” Robin asks. “What if we’re overreacting?”

Killian’s shoulders deflate slightly as he seems to consider this, but he shakes his head. “That would be a pleasant surprise,” he tells his roommate.

“Should we tell Emma?” Robin presses, and Killian shakes his head.

“I don’t think she’d believe us anyway,” Regina points out. “Graham said she was pretty excited.”

“Her mother constantly makes these statements about hope,” Killian shares with them. “I bet that stuck with Emma.”

He opens up the notebook, then starts looking around on the counter for a pen (Robin runs to get one from his bedroom, and he hands it to Killian, who starts drawing). He sketches out something which Regina doesn’t recognize right away, talking as he goes.

“The royal family’s private jet always lands on the northern strip of the airport – far enough from the terminal, close to the hangar.”

“And you know this because?” Regina asks.

“Because military escorts were rotated out, which means I had a rotation at the airport when I was in the Army,” Killian says. “There is a fence on the far side of this hangar,” he draws an X near the hangar in question, which doesn’t look that far from where the plane will land.   “If we run, we run here. Remember this – break left, and go.”

“And if they chase us? Where do we hide a princess in a city that knows her face?” Robin asks. Killian sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I have a contact - someone that I can trust who will keep us safe and who should still be in the city. He will know of some places where we can hide – including here.” He puts an X over a spot on the map. “It’ll look like nothing on the outside, but we’ll be okay.”

“No offense, but you haven’t been home in how long? What if these places aren’t there anymore?” Regina asks. Killian exhales harshly as he rubs his brow his hand.

“I don’t know, Regina. All I know how to do is to get her into the city if I need to. For all I know we’re blowing this out of proportion and we’ll be received into the palace with open arms.”

“It’s good to have a back-up plan regardless,” Robin says. He places a hand on Regina’s hip and pulls her close to him, and once again his touch eases all the tension out of her. She purses her lips and nods.

Killian continues to sketch out landmarks of Sagobok. He adds the river (the Afal), that cuts the town in two. He keeps drawing, explaining where the police stations are and where the military base is, and where to avoid if something happens.

“I will text my contact before we board and ask him to be ready in case we need him,” Killian says. He places both hands on the countertop and sighs.

“Take a picture, memorize the details, delete it,” he tells them. “Break your phone before they can get it and make Emma break hers first because they’re probably tracking her with the phone’s GPS anyway. Gold won’t hurt you because you’re Americans, not citizens of Eira, but I’m a dead man the minute the plane lands. Whatever you do, please - Emma has to come first. Don’t worry about me. Protect her, and protect yourselves, at all costs.”

There is a wildness to his eyes when he tells them this that makes Robin reach for the vodka and take a drink before pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. “We’ll keep her safe,” he promises Killian.

She knows that Robin will do anything Killian asked of him, so his consent doesn’t surprise her, her noble hero of a boyfriend.   But Regina doesn’t know how she feels about Emma, and this situation is too big for her to comprehend – she was not made for political conspiracies, petty social backstabbing is more her speed. But, for what it’s worth, the little princess is growing on her, and even though the voices of her parents wage battle in her head, and – and even though she owes Emma nothing, she pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the map.

…

Emma boards the plane with a smile at the flight attendant, eager to be back with Killian once more (when did it come to this, to the ache in her soul when he is not with her?). He’s texting when she spots him, and when she slips into the seat next to him, he presses send and turns the phone off, sliding it into his pocket. His eyes light up when he sees her, and she can’t help but feel excited.

They are going home. She will get him pardoned. Everything will be perfect.

“I heard you packed your entire closet,” he teases her, and she just smiles at him, leaning over to kiss him. Her hand tangles in his hair and she pulls him close, enjoying the way that his body feels against hers.

There is a cough behind them – Regina returning to her seat from the back of the plane. She throws her enormous black Tory Burch bag into the seat across from her. “You two planning on joining the mile high club?” she asks, eyebrow arched, and Killian wraps his arm around Emma. She snuggles into her chest as Killian shrugs.

“Maybe. Race you to it,” he says, and Regina looks both scandalized and intrigued by Killian’s suggestion, but Robin seems to think it’s a grand idea because he pulls his girlfriend down sit beside him.

“Please make sure to turn off all cellular devices,” the flight attendant reminds them as she walks through the cabin. Emma glances around, spots Graham and Belle at different ends of the airplane. Graham seems tense, and Emma wonders why – they’re going home. She knows the political situation isn’t ideal but if her mother wants her home, there has to be a reason for it, right? At least, that’s what Emma hopes.

She spends the first hour of the flight talking with Robin and Regina about school (Killian is on his laptop, claiming that he has to work on his paper).

“Do you ever wear your hair up?” Regina asks, and Emma just shrugs (she doesn’t, she likes it down). “Would you mind if I braid it? I like my hair short but I miss being able to have fun with it.” When Emma agrees, Regina crosses the aisle and pats the empty seat across from Emma. She moves so that she’s facing Killian who looks up from his laptop and winks at her.

“How do you want me to braid it?” Regina asks. Emma shrugs, and so Regina starts suggesting ways to get it off of her face and tells her that she can braid it into a crown around her head.

“I’m officially jealous,” she says as her fingers move through her hair, and Emma preens just a bit at the compliment from the other girl.

When Regina is done, they cram into the small airplane bathroom to look at it.

“So regal,” Regina remarks with a smile, and Emma has to admit, she enjoys the compliment. She’s going to enjoy being a princess again, even if it’s only for a little while. Maybe she can show Regina her jewels? She’s sure the other girl would like that. Maybe they can get the shops on the high street to close for a few hours and she can take the other girl shopping – it would be a nice way to express her gratitude for all that Regina has done for her in the past few days.

“Thanks,” she tells Regina as they walk back to their seats. Meal service is about to begin, and Regina swipes a few mini-bottles of wine, which earns her a sharp look from Killian.

“Did you want some?” Emma asks, sitting back down next to him. “We can ask.”

He shakes his head, takes her hand in his, and presses a kiss against the back of her hand.

“Everything I need it right here,” he tells her, and she can’t help but smile.

“Same,” she responds, because all she needs his him – it only took her being separated from him to realize that. Nothing – not his past, not her title – matters when they’re together. He smiles too, but Emma’s not quite sure that it reaches his eyes.

“Are you nervous about going home?” Emma asks. “I’m sorry, I sort of just dragged you – “

Killian laughs, raises an eyebrow. “A bit nervous, yes.”

Emma brings her hand up to his face, traces the scruff along his jaw. “I will keep you safe,” she promises him, because it is a promise she can make. She will do her best to keep Killian safe from Cassidy. He moves his head and kisses her palm, and she enjoys the scratch of his stubble against her skin (and if it makes her think of earlier in the day, and even the day before, and other ways that they spent their time…well, she can’t be blamed for blushing).

The food arrives just in time.

She dozes on and off during the flight – it’s rather long, and she sleeps through the refueling – and when she wakes, everyone else is asleep save Killian, who is staring off into the middle distance. She shifts, inhales sharply, and he looks over at her, concerned.

“Everything all right?” he asks, and Emma nods. She shifts, stretching, then undoing her seatbelt so that she can be closer to him, throwing her legs over his lap and letting him pull her close. He brings his forehead to rest against hers, hands coming up to rest on her knees.

“What do you miss the most about home?” she whispers, and Killian reaches his hand up, traces the line of her jaw before leaning back to study her.

“I miss walking on the bridge across the river early in the morning,” he tells her, and Emma nods, smiling. She’s never done that, but she’s watched the sun rise from the palace, the way that it cast rays of dappled gold along the water, the ebb and flow of boats and barges as they went along their daily business. “What about you?”

“I miss my bedroom,” she says, and Killian laughs quietly, hand slowly creeping down from her knee and up her thigh. She gasps quietly, glances up at him in surprise as his fingers trace patterns on her leg. She can’t help but feel the burn of how much she wants him spread through all of her body, centering between her thighs. They have been together several times in the past few days but she doesn’t think it will ever stop, the intensity with which she craves him.

His tone, when he speaks to her again, is light. “Will I get to see this bedroom?” he asks, and Emma takes a deep breath, bites her lip and nods.

“I hope so,” she tells him, and he leans forward and kisses her, softly, and she wants nothing more than to be in her bedroom right now (the mile high club is tempting but she won’t, not with Graham and Belle so close, not with Regina and Robin sleeping nearby). She pulls away reluctantly, runs her fingers through his hair and just takes him in. “The mattresses they provide on campus are nothing like we have in the palace.”

“I can imagine – I’ve been there before, you know.” Killian smiles. “When I first joined the military, there was a reception in one of the ballrooms.” He sighs. “Liam took me.”

“I’ll show you all my favorite hiding places,” Emma promises. She wants to show him everything about her home, wants him to love every nook and cranny as much as she does.

“Have you ever been the bakery off the high street – Granny’s?” Killian asks, and Emma nods.

“Yes – my mother loves that place. She would take me every year on my birthday – we would sneak in the back door so no one knew we were there.” Emma smiles as the memory. “Granny would serve us hot cocoa with cinnamon.” Emma has fond memories of the bakery, how Granny would serve them there and, and how she would stay and talk with her mother like an old friend. The scene of cinnamon and chocolate floods her nostrils and she sighs contentedly. “Do you know how my parents met?”

“At the apple festival?”

Emma nods. “My father was on holiday – he was serving in the Danish military, and he came to Sagobok for the festival. My mother was there with her friend Ella, and my father…did not make a good first impression – he spilled his cider on my mother and he was quite rude about it, as she tells the story.”

Killian raises his eyebrows. “Did he not recognize her?”

“Apparently not – but why would he? That was before tabloids or the internet, and she was just the princess, and he was just an officer from another country. They got into quite a disagreement over his role in the cider incident, and I believe my mother insulted him. And, because this is my mother we’re talking about, of course she felt guilty about it so she offered to buy him breakfast at Granny’s as a way to make amends.” Emma smiles. “They go there every year for their anniversary before the shop opens to the public and sit at the same table.”

The story is Emma’s favorite, because her mother used to brush her hair as she told it to Emma, fingers tracing across her brow. “You have to be careful, my darling girl, because love will find you when you least expect it.”

Emma glances up at Killian, finds his blue eyes watching her, and she wonders if her mother was right. She never believed her until now.

“What were your favorite treats?” she asks.

“The scones,” Killian says. “The ones with the cheese and sausage.”

Emma makes a face. “You don’t want savory food for breakfast – ew,” she complains, and Killian laughs quietly.

“I like them,” he tells her. “Not everyone has a sweet tooth like you do.”

It’s when he talks to her, now, that she realizes they’ve been speaking in their native tongue and not English at all. Emma takes a moment to let the awareness spread through her, because with it comes the realization that there is no language barrier when it comes to them. Killian knows her – he knows her story, he knows the expectations placed on her, he knows her culture (and, she realizes, he is also coming to know her heart). The thought is heavy, and yet Emma doesn’t push it way like she normally does things that are overwhelming or intimidating. Instead, she embraces it.

“You’re right,” she responds, “they don’t. You’ll just have to live with it for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s a cross I’m willing to bear.” Killian’s hand brushes against her face before he kisses her once more, gently. “I like your hair like this – Regina’s quite talented.” He touches the delicate braids. “You look good with a crown around your head.”

They talk, on and off, about home – their favorite food, their favorite places in Sagobok. He tells her about his school; she tells her about her tutors, and the stupid boys who played polo and who flirted with her recklessly. He tells her about his first kiss (in the alley behind Granny’s, with a shopgirl there). She tells him about Walsh, and he reminds her with his touch how he is very different from the boys that she knows from back home (he holds her shaking hands as she tells him, rubbing this thumb against her knuckles, which makes it easier in some ways and harder in others because he is so very different from Walsh and it makes her hate the other boy so much more), .

He can’t stop his hands from touching her, whether it’s tracing her face or holding her hands tightly in his. Emma can’t stop touching him either, and she wishes for nothing more than to be at the palace already so she can sleep with him curled tightly around her (she thinks that will scandalize her father far more than her mother).

Soon the others wake and breakfast is served, and Emma’s anticipation at going home grows. She cannot wait to be home, to hug her mother and father, to introduce them to Killian. As the plane lands, her excitement builds inside of her until she’s ready to burst.

They deplane, and Emma smiles as she steps onto her own soil. The air smells different here – cooler and crisper, maybe because it’s home. There is a spring in her step as she sees the limo that will take them to the palace.   She cannot wait to see her mother, her father, cannot wait to hold them and introduce them to Killian. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, and she hopes today will be beautiful enough to match how happy she feels, right now, at this moment.

She hears Killian fall into step beside her, and she turns to face him. “My parents aren’t expecting you but – “

She hears the buzz of her phone and Graham’s, watches Graham pull his phone out, his mouth open, looking at her –

And then there is a bang, and now those eyes are suddenly distant and glassy, he falls to his knees and behind him is Belle, gun in her outstretched hand, and then there is movement, someone is grabbing her, there is shouting -

The lights go out around her, and that is when she starts to scream.

…

When Graham goes down, Killian springs into action (he cannot mourn his friend, cannot do that now, not with Emma here, not with Emma so vulnerable). He barely takes a second to glance at Belle (he can hear her _I’m so sorry_ over and over in his head and _dammit_ they were all so _blind_ ) before he pulls the sidearm out from the holster under his hoodie and aims at one of the large lights that illuminate the tarmac.

He pulls the trigger and it shatters, shards of glass and filament falling down to earth,and that is when he grabs Emma and he starts to run.

“Shit,” he hears Robin says as he falls into step, “I didn’t think he was serious.” They run behind the airplane, sheltered by the hulking shape of the jet.

He does a quick count – Regina, Robin, Emma (who has stopped screaming but is most definitely hyperventilating right now). He needs to get them out of the airport quickly, and he needs them not to be followed. Luckily none of them have their bags with them save for Regina, who has her giant purse over her shoulder, gripping the straps so tight that, even in the dim light of the tarmac, he can tell that her knuckles are white.

And that is when the guns start to go off behind them, bullets hitting the plane and they need to move _now_.

“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing Emma and running towards the hangar (he has been here before, he knows that they can find a way out behind or through the hangar. Their footsteps are loud but the guns are not following them – at least, not for now.

The hangar looms overhead, dark and hulking in the early-morning light and they don’t slow down until they are in its shadow, creeping around the side (it is too bright, they need to hide her). Killian turns to Emma.

“You need to lose your phone – now,” he tells her, more forcefully than he wanted to, and Emma looks terrified. Killian takes off his hoodie while he says it, holster now obvious, and he shrugs that off too – he cannot run around town with it on – and Regina grabs it, shoving it into her giant purse (he notices the other girl is shaking just as badly as he is, and that so is Robin, and he never thought they’d actually have to put their plan into action - )

“But my parents – “

“This was a trap, Emma,” Regina steps forward, glancing at Killian as she does, and Killian returns his attention the area around the hangar. He is grateful for Regina’s assistance as he scans the perimeter, listening to her talk to Emma (Regina’s voice is cool and calm and composed, exactly like it is when she’s on the radio as The Evil Queen).

“Your phone has GPS monitoring, right?” Regina says softly, quietly. “Your bodyguard just shot –“ Regina’s voice catches, “your other bodyguard. We need to disappear. You can keep the phone - let’s get the sim card out.” Her hand moves towards her ear and she pulls out her earring (he’s seen Regina use her earring on Robin’s phone before, knows exactly what she’s doing, damn Regina is good in stressful situations).

“And fast,” Robin adds, gun out and at the ready, and for the first time since Graham texted him (he can’t think about Graham, he’ll mourn him later, _he has to get Emma to safety_ ) Killian is grateful that the other man thought ahead enough to have them armed. He is also happy that Regina insisted on an exit strategy, because he’s been thinking about it since before the plane, exactly what streets to take them down and what streets to avoid –

He knows that there’s a text from his contact waiting for him but he can’t stop to read it now while Gold’s men are still out there looking for them (there is movement at the far end of the airfield, shouting, and it’s getting light outside which means they need to get on the move quickly). There is barbed wire above the fence but Robin’s coat could protect them, and if he propels Emma over -

There is a crunch, and Killian watches Emma stomp repeatedly on her sim card, eyes wide and terrified as Regina slips her earring back into her ear, and he shoves his gun into his back pocket, wraps his hoodie around her. He cups her face between his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks (she looks so scared, his love, and he never wants to see that look in her wide green eyes again).

“I am not going to let anything happen to you, okay?” he promises her. He adjust the hoodie on her, ignoring the cold morning air, bringing the hood up to cover her face (he is so grateful Regina braided her hair back on the plane, it’ll make it easier to hide her in the city, Regina thinks so quickly on her feet -). He kisses her quickly before turning to the fence. “Robin, if we throw your jacket over the top – ”

“Like in the movies – got it. Go over first.” Robin slings his jacket up and over, and Killian shakes his head.

“You go first – help them down,” he tells the other man, who merely shrugs and vault the fence with ease. Regina goes next, falling into Robin’s arms with a stifled giggle, and then Emma (she is shaking, Killian feels her body shake as he propels her over the fence and it kills him that he can’t comfort her, not yet, not until they get to the Grand Palace – )

He joins them on the other side, delicately grabs Robin’s jacket, hands it to the other man, and hands Regina his gun to store in her purse (there is no place on his person to hide it, and he dropped his bag when he grabbed Emma’s hand at the airport).   They take off in a run.

He tries not to think too hard about the lack of a pursuit, but Eira is not a big country and he assumes that Gold will find them regardless of where they hole up. He assumes Gold is thinking the same thing.

They make it to the edge of the city before they have to slow their pace, as people are starting to wake up and head to work, and so four youth running might be suspicious.   He loops his arm around Emma and pulls her tight against him, and she curls into him. She must be so terrified, and her pain becomes his pain as he worries how he will get her safe, how he will calm her down –

“Stop.” Regina glances down an alley. “Over there – I want to get something,” she tells Killian, who frowns. In front of them is a convenience store, full of early-morning customer grabbing coffee and the morning paper. “Do you trust me?”

Killian nods. Regina has been steady (though scared) throughout all of this, and he doesn’t think she’d throw them over now. He trusts her.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells them, shoving her hands into her pocket and crossing the street quickly. Robin leans against the wall and watches as she disappears into the store, and Killian is wary. He makes her that he and Emma are at an angle, in case there is a CCTV camera nearby that could get a good look at their faces.   They are out in public, with Gold’s men anywhere and everywhere, and that is when Robin starts talking.

“See the match last night?” he asks, his voice taking on an accent similar to Killian’s, and it dawns on him, slowly, that Robin is providing a distraction (quick thinking – talkative youth are way less likely to be noticed than hulking silent youth loitering outside a store) and so Killian shakes his head, smiling at his friend, before looking down at Emma.

“Hey,” he says softly, and she takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” she replies, and then he leans forward and kisses her, because Regina’s errand has bought him a modicum of time calm Emma down, to get her focused. Her lips are soft and warm underneath his, and he wants so desperately to be anywhere else – anyplace other than here, on a street corner, courting trouble. Robin chatters aimlessly, his accent reasonably good, talking about soccer but all that Killian cares about is the way that Emma clutches his shirt with her hands, the movement of her lips, the way it feels to kiss her.

“Done.” When he looks up, Regina is back, clutching a small bag. “You still trust me?”

“Yes,” Emma replies, her voice firm, and Killian smiles at the steel that supports her voice. “I trust you.”

“Good, because you’re not going to _like_ me after I’m done with you,” Regina says. She grabs Emma’s arm and pulls them into the Burger King next door. Robin and Killian follow nervously.

Regina hands Robin her Amex. “Buy whatever you want and pretend that you’re named Regina,” she says. “Give us fifteen minutes and I promise I’ll lower your blood pressure.” She grabs Emma’s hand and the two of them head into the bathroom. Killian can hear the lock on the door ‘click’ loudly in the early morning gloom of the restaurant.

Robin blows his breath out loudly, and turns to Kilian. “Think they have sausage biscuits here?” he asks as he rubs his stomach with his hand. “I am starving.”

Killian can’t help but smile.

…

“I am not dying my hair in a Burger King bathroom,” Emma says, crossing her arms across her chest as Regina mixes chemicals together, puts the cap on the bottle and shakes it.

“Too bad, princess, you’re a bit recognizable,” Regina points out. “Now, take off your shirt so I don’t get any dye on you.”

Emma is scandalized by Regina’s blunt tone (princesses do not just _strip)_ but she does so anyway, unzipping Killian’s hoodie and dropping it on top of Regina’s bag, and then pulling off the black long-sleeved shirt she was wearing.   Regina jerks her head towards the sink.

“I’m not happy about this,” Emma says, wincing as Regina undoes the braids and starts to put cold dye on her hair, working it into the roots with her hands. The scent of harsh chemicals fills the room. Regina sighs audibly.

“Neither am I – your hair is a national treasure, sweetheart, whoever does your highlights deserves all the awards – but you’ll be easy to recognize and we can’t have that right now.” Regina keeps working the dye through her hair quietly.

Emma takes a moment, and thinks about the past few hours.. She never thought – she never knew –

“Graham is dead,” she says. Regina’s hand stops moving on her head.

“Yeah,” Regina responds. “Yeah he is.” She squeezes more dye onto Emma’s hair.

When she finishes, she tells Emma to wait. “We’re not going for full saturation, just enough that it matters.” She places the plastic gloves on the countertop carefully, and then pulls out her phone. She messes with it while Emma sits and stares at her reflection in the mirror (the dark mass of hair piled on top of her head makes her look so incredibly pale, just like Graham, oh _Graham_ \- )

“Hopefully Killian has figured out where we can stay by now,” Regina says, taking out her phone and checking for service. “I wanted to buy us time.” Regina pauses. “I’m sorry about your hair.”

“That’s okay,” Emma tells her, but her conversation with Killian yesterday has given her inspiration.

Granny would protect her. Granny would keep her safe, and alert the palace. No one could bribe Granny.

“I know a place,” Emma tells her. “I know someone that will help us.”

Emma lowers her wet hair in the rather fancy Dyson that the bathroom has, and then redresses. When she looks in the mirror, she barely recognizes herself. The image she sees is of her mother at her age, from the green eyes to the dark hair falling around her face. It is frightening, but at the same time a small comfort, to be so close to her mother even if she’s still far away.

“I look like my mother,” Emma tells Regina, who digs around in her purse until she finds her makeup bag.

“Let’s fix that,” she says.  

When Emma exits the bathroom, she is wearing heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick, looking more punk than she ever has, even if her hair falls over her face in damp waves. Killian’s eyes meet hers and she is terrified at first because she looks so different but he smiles and exits the booth. His hand brushes reverently over her forehead, pulling a lock of hair into his hand and running it between his fingers. His fingers dips into the crease in her chin, and she smiles and leans her forehead against his.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it,” Emma explains, and Killian just _hmms_.

“You could shave your head bald and I’d still fancy you,” he tells her, and her heart soars at his words.

“I have a plan,” Emma says with a smile. “We’re going to get you a better breakfast than this.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly mean,” he starts to say and Emma can’t help but beam.   She glances at the table to find two breakfast sandwich wrappers, and then turns back to him.

“Unless you’re already full – “

“I always have room for scones,” he tells her. He nods, and Robin stands up, grabbing Regina’s hand and following Emma and Killian out of the building.

Emma keeps her head down but with brown hair, no one gives her a second glance – or, at least, she assumes they don’t. Killian has his hood up over his head, his arm around her shoulders, and the fingers of his left hand play with her hair nervously as they proceed through the city streets that are just beginning to be touched by the sun. Regina’s heels behind them click on the pavement and even though they reach Granny’s in no time, Emma’s heart doesn’t stop racing until they reach the back entrance.

Emma knocks and they wait, glancing around them. This early, Granny should be baking in the back. When Granny finally opens the door, her mouth goes wide and she looks frightened, like she’s seen a ghost (and she probably has – she knew Emma’s mother as a girl).

“Get inside,” she commands, grabbing Emma’s hand and pulling her in. The others follow as Granny leads them to the storage room, where bags of flour and sugar line the shelves. She pulls on a string, and a single bulb lights up the darkness.

“You look just like her,” Granny remarks, eyes scanning Emma’s face. “What are you doing here? You should be far away from here.”

“How do you know that?” Emma asks, her heart racing (is it common knowledge that Cassidy plans to take her mother’s throne?). Granny’s frown grows deeper.

“I know lots of things, princess,” Granny admits. “And one of them is that you should not be here.”

“It was a trap,” Killian says, stepping forward. “Emma was told that her mother wanted her home, but it turns out that one of her bodyguards must have been working for Cassidy all along.”

Granny stares at Killian, brow furrowing. “I know you,” she says softly. “I caught you with that one girl in the back alley.” Killian ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck, and Emma grabs his free hand, making it abundantly clear just who he’s with right now (she can’t help it if she’s a bit territorial at the thought of some shopgirl from Killian’s past).

“We need a place to hide,” she begs. “Can you help us?”

Granny sighs, rubbing her hands on her apron. “For the love I bear for your family, I will help you. Let me makes sure that my shopboy is minding the front, and then I’ll take you upstairs.” She turns to Robin and Regina, looking them over before leaving the storage room, shouting, “August!” at the top of her lungs. She closes the door behind them.

There is a collective sigh of relief, and Emma watches as Robin embraces Regina. Killian wraps his arms around her from behind, burying his face in her neck.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” he says, his words vibrating throughout her body, and Emma brings her hand up to her mouth to cover the hysterical laugh that is about to come out. She feels hysterical – this entire morning has been a whirlwind, and she can’t even process what has happened every step of the way (she has brown hair now, Graham is dead, she is hiding at Granny’s-)

“I promised I’d keep you safe,” she tells him, and he pulls back, smiles at her.

“Aye, love, you did.” His eyes take on a softness that she’s seen in them a few times before, and he brings his hand up to cup her face (she never wants him to stop touching her).

The door opens again and Granny enters. “Follow me,” she tells them, guiding them up the back stairs to her apartment above the bakery.

“There’s one bedroom over there,” she tells Regina and Robin. “Don’t use up all my hot water.” And then she looks at Emma and Killian. “Come on.”

She shows them the other bedroom, apologizing for the smallness of the room, and when Emma realizes that it is Granny’s room, she refuses, but the other woman insists.

“God willing, you will be my queen one day,” Granny says. “What’s one night on my sofa when my sovereign has need of me?”

Her words cause Emma’s lip to tremble, and emotions to course through her. “Thank you – I am so sorry for dragging you into this but I didn’t know where else to turn – “Emma starts, but Granny shakes her head.

“I’m not scared of Rumpel Cassidy,” the older woman insists. She leads them into the kitchen, instructing them to have a seat while she goes to the tea kettle. When Emma and Killian sit, his phone vibrates and so he takes it out, checks it quickly. Whatever he sees much cause him relief, because he relaxes visibly in his chair, closing his eyes.

“What’s up?” Emma asks, and Killian shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he responds, but Granny’s voice cuts through the room.

“You’ll tell us now.” Granny places three mugs on the table, and then some scones – savory and sweet – and when the kettle goes off, she pours them tea before taking her seat. “Tell me everything, starting at the very beginning.”


	11. eleven

  
Chapter 11  
  
The minute the door closes on the small room, Robin exhales, and falls backwards onto the bed, closing his eyes.  Adrenaline has been surging through him since they landed, since Belle shot Graham (fuck), but maybe even longer than that – maybe since Killian got that text from Graham.  Whatever the case, it feels like he's been running for his life because, oh wait, he has.  
  
 "Hey."  Regina places one knee then the other on either side of his hips, sinking down on top of him and he reaches for her, pulling her close to him, holding her tight.  He buries his face in her neck, inhaling the spicy scent of perfume she's worn for ages now (spice and berries and something else, something completely Regina that has simultaneously driven him crazy and soothed his soul since the day they met).     
  
"Shit," he says out loud, rolling them over to so that they're lying side by side, Regina still tucked into him, arms wrapped around him, clutching his t-shirt in her hands.   
  
"I know right?" she remarks, exhaling, before she starts to laugh.    
  
He knows his girlfriend well, knows that hysterical laughter is how she deals with problems that she can't handle.  When the transmitter at the station blew the night of the battle of the bands, he found her in the office, laughing so hard that she was crying, tears streaming down her face and smile wide and slightly scary.  He holds her until the laughter subsides and her shoulders stop shaking, stroking his hand up and down her back, finding comfort in the rhythm.  There is a small painting of a girl in a red hooded cape walking through a snowy landscape and he studies it as he matches his breathing to Regina's, letting his heart rate fall.  
  
He is exhausted, he has no clothing to change into, he is in a foreign country, but he is alive.  He lets go of Regina to pat his jeans pocket, where he put his passport (he's grateful that it's still there, still on him after their mad dash).   
  
And that is when it really hits him that he may or may not have gotten himself involved in the middle of a political coup, and his laughter mingles with Regina's, deep and from the belly, because even in his wildest imagination he still thought that Killian and Graham were exaggerating (he's seen Killian at his darkest more than once, knows what that looks like and how futile it is to reason with him and this, this just seemed like another overreaction).   
  
It's totally not.  
  
Regina shifts, pulling her arm out from under him with a muffled complaint about him being heavy, but he just grabs her and shifts her until she's straddling him, her face between his hands.  His thumbs stroke across her cheekbones, burying his hands in her hair.  
  
"There is no one I would rather be on the run from a strange European dictator than you," he tells her before kissing her, slowly and softly, and she sighs.  
  
"Same," she tells him when she breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against his.  She sighs.    
  
"What have we gotten ourselves into?"  
  
He shakes his head, opening his eyes to look at her.  "Do you honestly want an answer to that question?" he asks.    
  
"Not really," Regina admits.  She shifts off of him and leans over the side of the bed, reaching for her purse.   
  
"I'm surprised that you held onto that thing," Robin says, rolling over onto his back and placing his hands behind his head.  Regina rolls her eyes.    
  
"I have priorities," she tells him, and just as she starts to dig into her bag, her phone goes off.  Her brow furrows and Robin sits up (how can anyone be calling her – they're in a foreign country).    
  
"How can you – "  
  
"I've got an international data plan."  She takes her phone out, studies whoever is calling, then glances over at Robin.  She takes a deep breath and then answers it in a voice that is practically saccharine-sweet, and Robin knows instantly who is calling: "Hi Daddy!”  
  
…  
  
Granny stirs her tea, tapping the spoon against the lip of the mug before placing it on the plate in the middle of the table.  Emma watches her, waiting for her to say something.  Between her and Killian, they've managed to explain most of the story, starting with Killian's (at one point Granny stopped them and looked him straight in the eye and asked for his history with Milah Cassidy, which wasn't awkward at all...) and ending with Belle.  Granny purses her lips when she hears about Graham's death, shakes her head and sighs.   
  
"This has been going on too long," she tells them.  
  
"How long has it been going on?" Emma asks, because it sounded from Killian's story like this was more recent than Granny is implying – maybe ten years, at most.  
  
"Rumpel Cassidy has been trying to hurt your mother's government ever since she became Queen – before she married your father and before you were born," Granny says, reaching for a scone and taking a bite.    
  
"That long?" Killian reacts.  "I didn't know – " he says, and Granny shakes her head.   
  
"Of course you didn't – you both were too young."  Granny purses her lips and inhales through her nose, letting it out slowly.  "Eira lacks natural resources, but we make up for what we don't have in agriculture and timber – at least, until we cut down so many trees that our forests became a protected resource.  We lack coal and natural gas reserves, but we have enough waterways and rivers that, when it became obvious that the cost of buying electricity from our neighbors was rising, your mother ordered the construction of Hoffen Dam."  
  
Emma nods.  She's been there – once, when she was younger, and another time when she was fifteen, on the tenth anniversary of its completion.  She remembers how large it was, and how proud her mother seemed at the sheer amount of electricity that the dam generated each year.  
  
"This dam doesn't just provide power to Eira, Emma," her mother had said, "but to our neighbors as well.  It wasn't easy to build it, but the benefits outweigh the costs."  She went on to explain something about the electricity grid that went above Emma's head, but what she remembered – what she remembers – is how the dam was something that her mother believed in, and how important it was to her.  
  
"In order to build the dam and let the Afal power it, it would necessary to seize adjoining farmland.  Your mother used eminent domain to do so – perfectly legal in Eira – but it was quite controversial at the time."  
  
"She seized Cassidy's land," Killian interjects, and Granny nods as she takes another bite of her scone.  
  
"Exactly," Granny says.  "Rumpel Cassidy's father, Malcolm, was shady character, but he somehow managed to buy several thousand acres of land on the banks of the Afal several decades ago, where he mined gold.  The mine itself was played out in a few years, so when Rumpel inherited it from his father, he opted to sell the property to the crown in lieu of condemnation, hoping for a big payoff.”  
  
"But there wasn't, was there?" Emma asks, and Granny nods.  
  
"Your mother gave a reasonable settlement to the landowners, but it was not as much as Rumpel would have wanted, nor as much as he thought the land was worth."  
  
"Has he really spent all this time seeking revenge on my mother for taking his land? She paid him for it - surely he's benefited from the dam such as much as the rest of Eira?" Emma says, frustration growing.  Here she thought Rumpel Cassidy's grudge against her mother ran deeper than just petty greed.  She didn’t think that something that threatened to topple an entire monarchy - a legacy running for nearly seven hundred years - could be reduced to such simplistic terms.   
  
"There are people in this world, Emma, who believe that they are owed more than they are actually due, and when slighted, will seek retribution against those they feel have harmed them – as I'm sure that some at this table may be all too aware of," Granny points out, and Killian shifts in his seat.     
  
"But he's wealthy – why would he still want to go after my mother?"  
  
"Rumpel Cassidy made his fortune in other ways – none of which I think he liked, all of which estranged him from his wife." She sighs.  "He is very good at supplying people with what they want, at whatever price they're willing to pay."  
  
"But that doesn't mean that you should overthrow a government just because they did one thing –"  
  
"Some people are just assholes,” Killian points out, and Granny smirks in agreement.  
  
Emma crosses her arms over her chest and slumps down in her chair.  Something seems off about Granny's explanations – like there's more to the story that the old woman knows, and that frustrates her.  Cassidy is a known threat, and her father always told her that she needed to get the lay of the land before charging in (granted, the land he was usually referring to was the attitudes of the other girls at school, but it was solid advice).   
  
"How do you know all of this?" Killian asks, and Granny leans forward on the table.  
  
"I run a bakery – I keep my ear to the ground, and I listen, and sometimes people say things while waiting for their coffee and strudel that they shouldn't."  When Killian raises an eyebrow   
in response, Granny huffs and gives him a look.  
  
"Let's just say that I know where my allegiance lies," she tells them both, glancing at Emma.  "I got pulled into this fight years ago, when I lost someone very dear to me at the hands of that monster.  I sure as hell won't let that man ruin the country that I love."  Granny's voice becomes quieter as she talks, but anger laces every last word and Emma wonders who it was that Cassidy killed – did Granny have children?  A husband?  Who did she lose that made her risk everything to stop the man?  
  
"So what have you done, exactly?” Killian asks, leaning his elbows on the table, looking at Granny with newfound admiration.  Granny smiles at him, sitting back in her chair and raising her chin.  
  
"I ran arms," she says, and Emma almost chokes on her tea in shock.  Granny doesn't seem like the kind of woman who would run arms to the resistance, but she adds, "they called me the Big Bad Wolf."  
  
Killian lets out a low whistle.  "I've heard of you.  You're a legend in some circles."  
  
"In all circles, young man," she tells him with a glance over her glasses.  "I'm just as well-known as you are, Killian Jones, but not nearly as infamous."  Killian scratches the back of his head and Emma reaches out to grab his other hand, squeezing it to know that she's done living in the past and that she doesn't care.  He glances over at her with a smile, and she feels her heart begin to race (he does this to her and it's crazy, how instantly she reacts to him).  
  
At that moment, his phone buzzes on the table, and he reaches for it, checking his messages.  He responds with one hand, the other still holding hers tightly, and she watches as he frowns before putting the phone back on the table.  
  
"What's going on?" Emma asks, and Killian sighs.  
  
"I have a contact who I planned on meeting with," he tells them, flicking his eyes up to Granny like he's asking for approval.  "He's on the ground, could give us an idea."    
  
Granny gives a slight nod.  "Do you trust him?" she asks.    
  
Killian shakes his head.  "Absolutely not."  
  
"Perfect," Granny remarks, pushing herself away from the table.  "When is your meet?"  
  
"Sooner rather than later," he tells her, glancing over at Emma. "Is that all right?"  
  
Emma smiles at him.  "I'll be safe here.  Whatever information you can find is important, okay?"    
  
Killian nods, standing up and Emma stands with him.  Granny takes that moment to become suddenly very busy in the kitchen, and so Emma walks Killian to the door.   
  
They linger there, sharing kisses, his hand stroking her face, knuckles brushing against her cheekbones.  "I promise I'll make this quick," Killian says, and Emma believes him. “If I’m not back within an hour - “  
  
“Shhh,” Emma says.  “You’ll be back within an hour.”  
  
Killian catches her hand, looks at her solemnly.  “If I’m not, Emma, then do whatever Granny says.  Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” she says, even though she doesn’t mean it, because she can’t think of Killian not being back within an hour because that breeds all sorts of scary thoughts.    
  
She lets go of him and he stops, opening his mouth just slightly and taking a deep breath like he’s going to say something, before smiling at her and reluctantly following her down the stairs.  She tries to smile reassuringly as he pulls his hood over his head, heads out into the early morning foot traffic of the street.  She locks the door behind her before returning to Granny's apartment.     
  
Granny has resumed her place at the table, and a newly refilled mug of tea is at Emma's place.     
  
"He looks at you the same way your father looks at your mother," Granny announces without preamble, and Emma stops, surprised, hands resting on the back of the kitchen chair.  That's high praise in her book, to be told that Killian reminds Granny of her father (who else would know her parents' relationship better than Granny?).  Emma feels a blush spread over her cheeks as she sits down, slightly embarrassed.  
  
"Good looking too," Granny adds, and Emma just wants to sink into the floor and never be heard from again.  Granny winks at her, and it takes all of Emma's royal training to stay in her seat, trying not to react.   
  
She's saved by movement behind them - Robin, who walks into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.  
  
"So...Regina is on the phone with her dad," he says, looking concerned and Granny nods.  
  
"She's the one whose mother went to rehab with the Greek royal, right?" she asks, and just as Emma opens her mouth to ask how she knows that, there is a commotion on the stairs.    
  
"Idiots," Granny mumbles under her breath, standing up and heading towards the door, and Emma is confused.  
  
When Granny opens the door, Emma is shocked to find Ruby and Leroy on the other side.  
  
"Oh my god," she says, covering her mouth with her hands, and the only thing that she keeps thinking is how much of my life has been a lie?  
  
Ruby and Leroy look at her sheepishly from the doorway.  Ruby stumbles into a weird curtsey, saying “your highness” and Emma groans and rests her forehead against the table (it’s never easy, is it?).  
  
…  
Sagobok is just as Killian remembers it - quaint and charming and perfect in the areas where tourists venture, and slightly sketchy and run-down in the places where tourists are mugged.  Jefferson lives south of the major pickpocket artery, in an apartment on the third floor above a Lebanese deli.  Killian climbs the stairs slowly, hesitating, remembering what Granny said about trust.  He doesn't trust Jefferson as far as he could throw him, but he wants to.  He wants to know his old acquaintance can provide him with some serious insight into their current predicament.   
  
(He still brings his gun with him anyway.)  
  
He knocks on the door twice, then once more, then three times, listening for the sound of footsteps.  He imagines that Jefferson is probably waiting near the door, looking through the peephole, checking to see if it's just Killian (he would do the same if their roles were reversed).   
  
The door opens slowly, and Jefferson peeks out.  When he sees Killian, his reaction is one of exaggerated surprise (always melodramatic, this one, depending on his meds) and he motions for Killian to enter (and when Killian does, he locks the door with three different deadbolts, which tells Killian something about his frame of mind).   
  
Killian met Jefferson through Milah, who knew of him because even while she was slumming it with revolutionaries, Milah Cassidy also played the part of a high society maven.  Even though she was estranged from Cassidy, she raised their son and he provided just enough money (though Killian now wonders where that money came from) to let her and young Neal want for nothing - including the fascinators and other artistic creations made by Jefferson for the wealthy women of Eira.  It appears that his creations are still in demand: his apartment is littered with strands of wire and fine mesh, fake flowers and large feathers covering the table in his living room, and Killian tries not to touch anything (he did, one time, and ruined a creation that Jefferson had been working on for months which resulted in him paying for the hat itself and living off of pot noodle for a month).     
  
Jefferson is mercurial, willing to work for the highest bidder, providing services where needed, but he had a soft spot for Milah, and Killian knows he's right not to trust him as Jefferson gestures for him to take a seat, covering the windows with curtains so that the room becomes dark and colder without the sun's scant morning rays (it appears that the heat is off, again.  Killian wonders who Jefferson owes money to).   
  
"I'm surprised you showed your face in these parts again," Jefferson says with a nervous smile.    
"I see that the good ole U S of A has been treating you well."   
  
Killian shrugs.  "Well enough.  I had good reason to return," he admits, not telling the other man anything about Emma, anything about just what those reasons are.  "So what's the story?"  
  
"About Gold?" Jefferson asks, taking a seat across from him.  "Same as it always is."  
  
"Still has the military in his pocket?" Killian asks, and Jefferson nods.    
  
"Military, and some private industry.  He hasn't quite swayed the majority of the elite of Sagobok who find him insufferable."  Jefferson crosses his legs.  "He has found a backer in Maurice French."  
  
"French?" Killian frowns, tries to place where he heard that name before (it sounds so very familiar that he feels like he should know who it is).  Jefferson leans back in his chair, wipes lint from his pants.   
  
"Agribusiness mongol.  Starts hanging out with Gold at all these ritzy functions, golfing, vacations in the Mediterranean.  His lovely daughter Belle even joins them..." Jefferson says, raising his eyebrows, and that is where he's heard that surname before - Belle French, the bitch who shot Graham (his chest clenches when he thinks of Graham's lifeless eyes but he tries not to think, not about that, not right now).  Emma's fake bodyguard.  Traitor to the Crown.  Anger builds inside of him, threatening to boil over but he composes himself into the look of casual indifference he found he had to wear with people like Jefferson when he was involved.  
  
"His daughter, eh?" Killian asks, chin up, features carefully arranged, and it works: Jefferson looks eager to spill the beans, assuming that Killian doesn't already know of Belle.  
  
"Works for the palace - private security or office staff, I can't say.  Tried to find her in Sagobok but she's not here."  
  
Killian scratches his forehead, leans forward in his seat.  "What's the purpose of Gold getting in with big business? What good could possibly come of that?"  From what Granny told them, Gold went broke with the dam, and then somehow made his money back through less than honest means.  Killian wracks his brain to try to remember what Milah said his job was, and then he remembers: lawyer.  A man with a vendetta who knows the ins and outs of legal code...  
...that's dangerous indeed, if he knew where the rules were most easy to bend and the cost of breaking them.  
  
"Maybe he wants the trifecta - the military, private sector, next he only has to win over the public's hearts."  
  
"That's not going to be easy," Killian points out. "The majority of the population loves their queen."  
  
Jefferson shrugs his shoulders.  "Maybe he wants money."  
  
"Or leverage," Killian adds, thinking about Belle.  Gold could get a lot out of private industry, but getting a prominent businessman to be in his debt...and getting his daughter to work for him...  
  
"How rude of me - I haven't even asked if you wanted tea.  Would you like some?" Jefferson asks, and Killian sighs.   
  
"Sure - thanks," he says, even though he's been plied with tea for the last half-hour at Granny's, even if he doesn't really want it.   Jefferson goes into the kitchen, fiddles with the electric kettle, filling it with water and then turning it on.  Killian leans his head back against the couch, feeling exhausted.  He hasn't slept, he's more than jet lagged, and he just wants to curl into bed with Emma and pretend they're not here, that they're back in the US and it's just him and her and no one else in the world - no threat to her family, no threat to his life  
  
There is a knock on the door.  It echoes through the small space, and Killian inhales sharply.  He shoves his hand into the pocket of his hoodie, brushing against his gun.  He might have to break the window but he could get out -   
  
"Expecting someone?" Killian asks, just in case he’s jumping to conclusions.  
  
In the kitchen, the water in the tea kettle starts to boil loudly in the suddenly too-silent apartment.  Jefferson stops what he's doing in the kitchen.  
  
"Jefferson," he says, knowing what is about to happen (why is he even asking?).  Jefferson turns towards him, looks like he's about to be sick, and Killian feels his stomach drop.    
  
"What did you do?" he asks Jefferson, who takes a step backwards, towards the door.  Killian stands up, taking his gun out of his pocket.    
  
"They arrived just before you did," he says, reaching for the locks (one-two-three) and then the   
doorknob, and in that moment, Killian thinks he's the one that's about to be sick.     
  
"Don't do this –" he starts to say, but Jefferson just looks at him one final time.   
  
"He has my daughter," he tells Killian, eyes wide, look of pure desperation on his face.  "I'm so sorry, Killian."  
  
He opens the door.   
  
Rumpel Cassidy stands on the other side, dressed in a suit, leaning on his cane.  He looks as if he is alone, but Killian knows that doesn’t mean anything (there are probably men in the stairwell, Gold always had a flair for the dramatic…)  
  
Killian can hear the roar of blood in his ears as he looks at the man, this demon from his past, and all of his instincts tell him to raise his gun and take the man down (he could do it, he knows he could, he’s faster than Gold, but he knows that his actions have consequences for Emma and the others.  Thinking about that has him thinking about Emma.  What will happen to Emma if he doesn't come back to Granny's?  Will she come after him?  What if he doesn't make it home at all?  He thinks of her face, the wide green eyes and kiss-stained lips, the feel of her under his fingertips and he is so very sorry that he ever stepped into this apartment because there is no way that he will be going back to her now.  
  
"Hello Killian," he says.  "Welcome home.  Please put the gun down - I’d like to make things easy for the both of us."  
  
In the kitchen, the tea kettle lets out a fierce whistle.  
  
...  
  
Regina drums her nails on her jeans (her left ring finger is chipped - how inconvenient, but the least of her problems at the moment).  Her father is telling her about the meal he had last night - some seafood restaurant, duh, they're in Boca Raton of course it's seafood - and she listens because she loves him and it's 1am in Florida and she's the reason he's awake.  
  
She knew better than to use his card but she did it anyway - maybe because she wanted someone to know she was here, maybe because she was scared.  There's some sort of security in the fact that her parents know where she is, even if she has been vague about why she's in Eira (her father will never press and Cora is already asleep for an early morning tee time with her gaggle of friends hence the lack of shaming that is currently going on).  
  
"Daddy," she says sweetly, "I'm going to find some coffee now.  I've been up for a long time and you know what you always tell me about jet lag."  
  
"Stay up as long as you can, good thinking.  You're such a smart cookie.  Good night, darling, and have fun," Henry Mills tells her, and she wishes him sweet dreams before hanging up the phone and throwing it into her purse.   
  
(She wonders how long until Cora finds out she's in Eira.)  
  
(She wonders what it will mean for Cora to find out she's in Eira.)  
  
She stands up, hearing voices from the other side of the door - more voices than Killian and Emma's, that's for sure - and so she opens it slowly and heads out, wondering if Belle has come to collect them after all (she hopes Killian was right about their safety as American citizens...)  
When she enters the kitchen, her eyes immediately fall on the pudgy member of Emma's security team who interviewed her a few weeks ago, and a girl with a shockingly red highlight in her hair that looks vaguely familiar.  Emma and Robin are also sitting at the table, Robin munching on something that resembles a scone, and Regina realizes how hungry she is, and how long it's been since she ate last.  
  
She slides onto Robin's lap, and he puts his arm around her waist, holds her tight against him. He offers her his scone and she takes a bite while the others just avoid looking at each other.    
  
Emma stares straight ahead, past the girl to Regina's left, looking somewhere off into the middle distance and the way that she clenches and unclenches her jaw tells Regina that she is pissed.  She can hardly blame her - they haven't been here long, and the fact that another member of her security team who was suspiciously absent from the flight (Leroy, that's his name) just turned up here would be irritating as well.    
  
"So I take it you're Team Emma too?" Regina asks, raising an eyebrow as she looks at the older man.  
  
"Since day one," Leory says, and on the other side of Robin, Emma throws up her hands in the air.  
  
"I get that no one could tell me but really? Ruby too?" she asks, clearly exasperated, and it suddenly dawns on Regina where she saw the other girl before  - at Emma's dorm room, when she stopped to talk to her one day (how many people were spying on Emma without her knowing it? What is up with this operation?).  
  
"I knew I recognized you," Regina says with a smirk, and Ruby at least as the decency to look embarrassed.  She shifts in her seat, rolling her neck and trying not to look at Emma.   
  
"Ariel too?" the little princess says, and Ruby looks up with an exaggerated look of frustration on her face.  
  
"Have you met Ariel?" she asks, full of sass, "she still thinks that you're going to introduce her to Prince Harry."  
  
Emma smiles slightly at this comment, and the tension in her seems to diminish slightly. "He is single now," she remarks, and Ruby immediately says, "Dibs!"  The two of them share a smile, and the tension in the room drains further.  Granny brings Regina a mug of tea as Emma puts an elbow on the table, leans her chin against her palm.  
  
"How long?" Emma asks.  "How long has this been going on?"   
  
"We were tipped off about Gold knowing you were here," Leroy says.    
  
"We?" Emma asks, and Ruby interjects, "those of us working against Gold."  
  
“So the resistance?” Regina asks, and Leroy looks insulted.   
  
“Is it a resistance movement when you’re trying to save your own country and keep the current monarchy?” he argues, and Regina merely shrugs.  
  
“Historically speaking, when on the verge of a coup, yes,” Robin points out, but that doesn’t seem to appease Leroy.     
  
Regina presses the issue.  “Are you the same group that Killian was affiliated with?” she asks, and Leroy continues to look put-out by her confusion.  
  
“Loosely,” he grits out between clenched teeth.  “Not as militant, still as dedicated.  This is more of a part-time job for some of us - like Ruby.  And she volunteered to go - she could be closer to you than anyone Gold would send."  
  
“How did you get involved?” Regina asks, trying to piece together parts of the puzzle.  “You’re seventeen.”  
  
“She’s my granddaughter,” Granny calls from near the sink, and Ruby looks down at her hands.    
  
"And I wanted to see the US," Ruby adds, but Emma sighs.  
  
"Except Gold sent Belle," she points out.  "And she was my roommate too."  
  
"Gold bought Belle - she was assigned as your bodyguard first," Leroy points out.   
  
"What if she was working for Gold all along?" Regina interjects, and Leroy's frown grows deeper.  
  
"You know, we actually suspected you for a while," Leroy says, looking disgruntled.  "When you asked to bring Emma home for Thanksgiving, we were convinced that you were Gold's agent in the US."    
  
This shocks Regina, but it does make sense in a lot of ways - random older girl inviting Emma home for a holiday - she'd be suspicious too.  "How did you know it wasn't me?" Regina asks coolly.  
  
"Your social-climbing mother is in tight with the deposed Greek royal family," Leroy replies nonchalantly.  "She seems to value status above things like wealth.  Unless somehow you came into contact with Gold and decided to work independently which is unlikely, because no offense but you're just one of many little rich girls at school, it would have had to be your mother to set up the alliance."  
  
"And there's no way that Cora Mills would chose a politician over blue-blooded aristocracy," Regina points out,  acknowledging the statement with a nod.  She takes a sip of her tea.  Leroy's perfectly right - Cora has always said that money can buy you anything, but power and status (or even the illusions of power and status) are worth their weight in gold.  Even if Emma's family was deposed, the slight connection to another royal family would catapult her into a brand new social strata - more weekends skiing in the Swiss Alps, more front row seats at Fashion Week (Paris, Milan, London - Cora's never picky), more yachts in the Mediterranean where she can try to hoist her daughter into the European social elite.    
  
Regina's never been happier of Cora's ridiculous social goals more than she is right now, when it instantly discredits her from hurting Emma (and that is a strange thought, considering she barely knew the girl one month ago...)   
  
"So what happened to tip you off to Belle?" Robin asks, shifting Regina on his lap and reaching for more food.    
  
"She drugged me!" Leroy announces angrily.  "Drugged me and tied me up.  If Ruby didn't find me, I don't know what would have happened."  
  
"When you came back to pack with Belle, saying that you were going to Eira - it was a big tip off," Ruby admits.  "Leroy keeps me up to date on official orders from the palace, and he hadn't mentioned anything about you coming home."  She ducks her head.  "We were worried it was Graham."  
  
"And yet you still let me go to Regina's with him?" Emma asks, surprised.  "Why would you do that?"  
  
Ruby shrugs.  "We trust Killian," is her response, and Regina thinks it's a poor one because trusting one guy, a girl presumed to work for Gold, and a complete stranger is definitely a smart security decision (are these people even trying? No wonder they're bunkering down in an apartment over a bakery.  It's amateur hour around here.)  
  
"Killian Jones may be a mess, but he would never sell you out to Gold," Leroy adds, like that's supposed to make them feel better, but it seems to pacify Emma.  
  
"It wasn't Graham," Emma says softly, and Regina's heart aches because she hasn't been thinking about the man who less than a day ago was preparing her to protect Emma at all costs, just like he was intending to and -   
  
She rests her head against Robin's, clings to him just a bit tighter.   
  
“Wait,” Emma asks, “how did you get back here?”  
  
Ruby shrugs.  “Two tickets to Amsterdam, and then Leroy’s brother picked us up at the airport.  Our plane left about an hour after yours.”  
  
There is the sound of scraping as Granny finally rejoins the circle, another chair around the already overcrowded table.  She places her cup of tea down and folds her hands in front of her.   
  
"We need to determine the next course of action," she tells them, which is the first reasonable thing that anyone's said so far in Regina's opinion.  As she talks, she fixes each of them with a steady gaze and Regina likes her instantly - she doesn't seem afraid of anyone.  "Cassidy had Belle bring you here for a reason, and we need to figure out what that reason is."  
  
"Do you think he's planning to overthrow my parents now?" Emma asks, and Granny just shakes her head sadly.  
  
"I don't know the answer to that, Emma," Granny says.  "No one in our network has tipped us off to anything big where Gold is concerned - just the usual bribes exchanging hands, which is why Belle took us all by surprise."  
  
Emma slams her hands down on the table.  "Then what good are you? Graham is dead, I am here, and Cassidy wants to overthrow my parents.  Some resistance movement you are."  Emma pushes herself back from the table and storms past them.  Regina hears a door slam.  
  
"That went well," Granny says with a sigh.  She looks over at Ruby as if to say go get her but Ruby just shakes her head and turns to Regina.   
  
"She won't talk to me, I know it," Ruby admits.  "Would you try?"  
  
"What good would I do?" Regina asks, but Robin answers, "she listened to you about Killian - maybe she'll listen to you where this is concerned."  
  
"What am I going to tell her? That she's right - none of you have a plan, or if you do you're less than forthcoming about it.  She's scared, and none of you are making this any easier for her," Regina spits out, frustrated.  She's in a foreign country, she's already run for her life once (twice if you count the tense walk to Granny's), and for what?  She doesn't owe allegiance to Emma, isn't one of her subjects or even her friend like Ruby.  She's just a girl who got pulled into this by trying to be nice (and look what that's gotten her).  
  
"Then maybe you should," Granny says quietly, dismissively, and Regina realizes she's been unwillingly drafted into this fight, end of story.  With a huff, she finishes her tea and puts it on the table before heading off to find Emma.  
  
The princess is holed up in the room that Regina and Robin were in earlier - though 'holed up' might not be the best expression.  The window is open, and for a moment Regina panics - what if she's gone?  Oh god, that would be the worst - she's not sure how she would explain it to the Wonder Team assembled in the kitchen, but she sees a brunette head and is surprised to find Emma sitting on a very small balcony that's barely big enough for her (her legs her tucked under her chin, and she has her arms wrapped around them).     
  
Not cool, Regina thinks - she’s in plain sight, anyone could take her out and she says as much, sitting in the windowsill and leans out.  "Hey," she says softly.  “Killian would be pissed that you’re out here in plain sight.”  
  
That works immediately, and Emma crawls inside, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Sorry,” she says, sounding more than a little put-out, and Regina can’t blame her.  She lingers by the window, looking out on the street.  Below them, the city is waking up, and people are already well-into their morning routine.  A bus roars past them, people hurry in and out of the bakery, white bags in hand, and it occurs to Regina that life really is a Weezer song: the world has turned, and left her here, in a foreign country, waiting for someone to come up with a better plan than let's bide our time and see what happens.  
  
"You were right out there - this is the ultimate shit show, isn't it?" she remarks, glancing back at Emma.  
  
Emma sniffs, but she briefly cracks a smile before looking down at her hands.  Her hair falls into her face and she tucks it back behind her ears.  
  
"Where's Killian?" she asks, and Emma shrugs.  
  
"I don't know - he went to meet a contact," Emma responds, picking at a string on the sleeve of her shirt.  
  
"Do we know when he'll be back? Does he think this contact has a plan?" Regina presses, hoping that Emma will tell her something, but she only succeeds in pissing the other girl off.  
  
"How the hell should I know?" Emma snaps, but she seems to recognize that she’s being rude immediately.  “Sorry - I’m just…”  She runs her fingers through her hair, pushes it over to one shoulder and then runs her hands through it again, shifting it back.    
  
“I understand,” Regina says, but talking to Emma right now seems like a futile effort (Emma probably doesn’t want to talk about when Killian will be back if she doesn’t know who he’s meeting or where he’s going).  Time for plan B: when all else fails, kill them with kindness.  
  
"You pull off brunette pretty well," Regina tells her.  "I bet you could be a redhead too.  I'll admit, I'm jealous - I can't do blonde, I can barely do red with my coloring."  She makes herself comfortable, perched in the window.   
  
Emma turns to her.  "You think so?" she asks, and it's clear to Regina that her approval is a good thing (when did this happen?).    
  
Regina nods.  "Yeah - your mom's a brunette, right?"   
  
Emma nods, running her hands through her hair.  “Hey - would you braid my hair again?" she asks.  “I’d like it out of my face.”  
  
"Sure," she tells Emma, sitting down behind Emma on the bed.  Regina remembers Cora doing this to her when she was a little girl - braiding her hair neatly, stringing together a litany of praise about Regina who was so good and so smart and that she would go so far.  It’s one of the fonder memories she has of her mother, and she wonders if this is a small comfort to Emma as well.  
  
"Did your mom braid your hair when you were little?" Regina asks, and Emma nods.    
  
"Yeah," Emma admits.  "She has short hair now, but when she was younger - when I was younger - she used to braid my hair and hers so that we could match." Regina practically hears the smile on Emma's face at the fond memory.  She runs her fingers through Emma's hair to remove any tangles left over from dying her hair in the bathroom (which may have been a bad call but she panicked and didn't know what do and she's right, Emma can pull off brown well).    
  
After a moment, Regina asks, "What do you think we should do?"  
  
Emma shrugs her shoulders.  "I don't know.  I want to find Cassidy, and confront him.  I also want to run home to my parents, but I don't want them to know that I'm here.  I don't want them to be worried about me."  
  
"Parents always worry," Regina says.  "I told my dad I was here.  He expressed concern about my desire to travel abroad for fall break." Regina laughs.  "He worries about me a lot."  
  
"What about your mother?"  
  
"She worries about me when it's convenient, or when it might upset her plans for me," Regina admits, fingers working through Emma's dark strands.  "What about your parents?"  
  
"My dad worries more than my mom," Emma says.  "Or, maybe they worry about different things.  My mom worries about big things, like what I'll do as queen, and if she's prepared me well.  My dad worries about the small stuff, like if I get enough sleep or if I'm passing my classes."  
  
"Are you passing your classes?" Regina teases.  She nods.    
  
"I am, but I don’t feel very smart right now.  I wish I knew what to do.  I wish I knew that they were worried about me when they sent me to school - but I also wonder if I would have thought twice about getting on the plane if I knew."  
  
"Do you really think that?" Regina asks, knowing the sheer number of decisions that she makes in the heat of the moment without proper thought or consideration of actions, wondering if Emma would be any different.   
  
"I'm not sure," the princess admits.   
  
"So, why did you get on the plane?" Regina presses, curious.    
  
"Because I wanted Killian's name to be cleared," she tells Regina.  "Because I missed my parents, and I wanted him to be able to be free of Cassidy's influence so that we could be together without him being scared."  Emma sighs.  "I’m being foolish.  That was a ridiculous plan.  I’ve not only put myself in danger, but you and Robin and Killian as well.  And Graham…"  
  
"Don’t be too hard on yourself - we do crazy things when we care about someone," Regina admits, thinking of Robin, of her own avoidance of their relationship for so long.  "Do you think that we could get to the palace unnoticed?  Is there any way for you to talk to your parents?"  
  
"I don't know - maybe?  I mean, there are back streets, but maybe if we get Granny to drive us in her van?  But what if they're checking vehicle interiors like they normally are..." Emma sighs again.  "The struggle is real."  
  
"Elastic," Regina requests, and Emma peels the elastic off her wrist, passes it over her shoulder.   
  
"Maybe you should talk to Granny about that, then.  If you want to see your parents, then maybe that's the best course of action."  She pats Emma on the shoulder.  "There, finished."  
  
"Yeah."  Emma slides off the bed, stands up and walks to a small mirror.  "It looks good.  Thanks, Regina."  
  
"Don't mention it," Regina replies, brushing strands of hair off of her jeans.  
  
"No, I mean...thanks for everything.  I really appreciate all that you've done for me.  I know I was a brat earlier, and I’m sorry."  When Regina looks up, Emma seems sincere, and she nods.    
  
"No problem at all," she tells her, because her words make her wonder just what she's doing here.  Regina is not one to do things for no reason, not when her life is at risk.  She barely knows Emma, but there's something about the connection forged between them that started the night when Regina picked her up from her dorm and took her grocery shopping.  Regina doesn't have very many female friends - her sister's a bitch and she does better with men anyway, but whatever tentative friendship seems to be forming between her and Emma might actually be a good thing.   
  
There is a knock at the door.   
  
"Hey ladies," Robin calls out, "you may want to get out here."  
  
…  
  
Emma brushes past Robin as she heads out the door of the bedroom - his tone made it sound like something was seriously wrong.  Her heart is racing and all she can think is that Killian has been injured, Killian has been hurt, something is wrong with Killian -   
  
She is surprised to see Belle in the middle of Granny's living room, hands up in the air, Granny standing behind her with a gun (like she stood behind Graham, Emma thinks bitterly).  Seeing Belle sends a shock through her because when she sees Belle, she sees Graham and his cold eyes and -   
  
"Tell the princess what you just told me," she commands, aiming the rifle at Belle's head and Belle whimpers, clearly frightened by Granny.  Her eyes fall on Emma and her lip trembles, and Emma hears the roar of her pulse in her ears, feels just a bit off-center because this is someone that she trusted and who betrayed her in the most heinous way possible.  She wants to scream, to rage, to curse and to shout at the girl who killed Graham, who betrayed them all, and when she opens her mouth to speak, she almost slips and says What the hell is going on? but she doesn’t.  Granny’s use of the word princess reminds Emma that she is, in fact, their future sovereign and her mother’s daughter, and that her mother would never act this way in front of anyone regardless of how deeply they wounded her (if her mother has taught her anything it’s that composure is the armor that gives you strength even when you’re angry).  
  
She takes a deep breath, tries to control her emotions just like her mother would do.  
  
“She’s clean,” Granny calls out.  “No gun, no wire, no phone.  Nothing - not even a set of car keys.”  
  
"What's going on, Belle?" she asks calmly, watching Belle taking a shuddering breath (she can see that the girl is terrified but struggling to be brave).  Granny gets impatient.  
  
"You will answer your princess, or I will put a bullet in your skull.  Let's see what Gold does without his pretty little assassin," she threatens.    
  
“No,” Emma tells Granny.  “My mother always says that threats are a coward’s way out.”  She looks at Belle.  “You’re here for a reason, and I need you to tell me what that reason is.”  It takes every ounce of her control to keep her voice steady when all she wants to do is rip the other girl’s head off.  
  
Belle swallows, attempts to collect herself.  
  
"Gold," she says, and Emma's blood runs cold at the mere mention of the name.  "He has Killian.  Jefferson sold him out.  I'm supposed to tell you in the hopes that you'll come running to save him."  
  
At first, she's certain she heard her wrong.  She shakes her head, frowning down at her, and holy crap, she's cold - she's so cold, the hairs on the backs of her arms are standing up straight and then she looks at Granny, who is lowering the rifle closer to Belle's head, and she says, "Wait, what?"  
  
"He's going to hurt him!" Belle yells, her voice a ragged yelp and Emma just stands there, staring at Belle's hysterical reactions.  That is when it occurs to her that Rumpel Cassidy has Killian and that he may be coming for her and he has Killian and he is going to kill him and she will never see him again, but that can't be true because she has to seem him again and her knees no longer want to work and she’s falling on the ground hard, collapsing because Killian has been taken prisoner.  
  
There is wetness in her eyes and her entire being feels like she is being torn apart because Cassidy will not be restrained this time and she will not be able to save him if she doesn’t know where he is or where Cassidy would take him.  
  
"Emma."  
  
She glances up to find Ruby crouching in front of her, waving her hand in front of Emma's face.  Emma blinks, and looks back at Belle.  Their eyes meet, and in that moment she has never been angrier.  Killian's life is in jeopardy, and she is not okay with that (she is so not okay with that).  She nods, and Ruby extends her hand, helping Emma stand.  Ruby gives her hand a quick squeeze before she lets go.  She takes a moment, inhaling slowly and exhaling even slower, trying to channel her mother (she can be kind but firm and imposing, she knows she can).  
  
"Why are you really here?" she asks Belle, because there's something about Belle's words that are at odds with her fear unless she really is frightened of Granny (and really she can't blame her, Granny is imposing with that rifle in her hands).  Belle takes a deep, shuddering breath.  
  
"I'm so sorry, your highness," she says, "I'm so sorry -"  
  
“I doubt that,” Leroy remarks from beside Granny, crossing his arms over his chest.  “You’re a stone-cold lying bitch.”  
  
“That’s enough,” Granny warns Leroy, nodding at Emma, and Leroy looks suitably chastened, ducking his head down and mumbling an apology.    
  
“I don’t want your apologies,” Emma tells Belle, turning her full attention to the girl.  “Your apologies can’t bring Graham back” (she chokes on his name) “and they can’t save Killian.  Only your actions can.  So tell me - what leverage does Gold have on you?" Emma presses, taking a step closer to her former friend.  
  
"Not entirely," Belle admits.  "He has leverage on my father - something to do with one of his investments, I don't know all the details - "  
  
"You're doing a piss-poor job of convincing us, sweetheart," Leroy snaps from the corner of the room, but Emma narrows her eyes, studying Belle.    
  
"I think she's telling the truth," she admits, because Belle’s ignorance rings true.  "Okay, he's got something on your dad.  Did you really work for the palace?"   
  
"Yes - security staff.  I have training and I look young - that's why they offered me the position on your detail," she tells Emma.  "But my father's only half the reason that I..."  
  
Emma frowns, uncertain of where this is going, and Regina snarks, "watch her tell us that she's involved with Gold."  When Belle looks up with a guilty look on her face, Regina groans.   
  
"Unbelievable," Ruby remarks, and oddly enough, this makes things marginally easier for Emma to understand.  She knows the desire to protect the people she cares about and while she may not understand working for a sociopath like Gold, yet alone love him, she knows that emotions and feelings  can make people go to extremes .  
  
"Why are you here?" Emma asks.  "You're not just here to tell us about Gold - there’s something else, or you wouldn’t be here."  And that makes Emma frown.  “How did you know that we were here?”  
  
“I triangulated data for Regina’s phone using her cell number,” Belle tells them.  “You’d be surprised what resources Gold has at his disposal.”  
  
Emma hears Regina curse under his breath, and Emma thinks about stomping on her SIM card.   She glances at Regina, who looks utterly distraught (Belle must have gotten Regina’s number when they were screening her a few weeks ago…).  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Regina tells Emma, but Emma just shrugs.  
  
“You know, for a communication studies major…” Emma says, trailing off, but she smiles, and Regina smiles weakly as well.  She knows it’s not Regina’s fault - none of them expected Gold to be so resourceful, none of them expected him to use Regina’s phone.  
  
“Look,” Belle interjects.  “I triangulated the data.  Not Gold.  Me.  He told me to find you but I could have sent anyone to do that.  I came here to tell you about it because…” she stops, swallows.  "He promised me he wouldn't hurt him.  I think he's going to break his promise."  
  
Emma can only guess at what that means for Killian (Graham’s lifeless eyes are burned in her memory) and she clenches her hands into fists to prevent herself from lashing out.     
  
“And what do you want from me?” Emma asks, trying to stay calm and struggling (Milah dead, Killian banished, Cassidy won’t let him go another time…).  “Absolution? Because I can’t give you that.  You killed Graham, Belle, and your actions are going to get another good man killed.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Belle says, tears streaming down her face.  “I don’t want anything from you.  I want to help you - whatever it takes.”    
  
“No offense, but your promises aren’t worth shit,” Ruby points out.  She turns to Emma.  “We can’t trust her.”  
  
“She’s right,” Granny snaps.  “We need some sort of guarantee that she won’t turn on us.”  
  
Emma turns away, thinking.  Whatever leverage Cassidy has on Belle’s father - whatever claim Cassidy has on her heart - there has to be something that Emma can use to negotiate (she’s never negotiated before, no matter how many times she’s watched her mother do it, and now she’s actually scared, she doesn’t have any right to negotiate, she’s not sure what to do but - ).  
  
“You killed someone in cold blood, on the orders of a traitor to the Crown,” Emma says, turning back around to face Belle.  “You realize that’s treason as well as murder.  Eira still has the death penalty for treason.” (Of course, no one’s been executed for treason since World War II but Emma’s not sure that Belle knows that, especially since it’s still on the books…)  
  
Belle swallows and nods, squaring her shoulders, ready to take her sentence.  “I know.”  
  
“I could convince my mother that life in prison is a far better punishment for someone like you,” Emma adds.  “Cassidy expects us to come for Killian.  What he doesn’t expect is for us to rescue Killian and since you’re here to help….”  
  
“Thank you, your highness.  I have a plan,” Belle says.  “I can help you get Killian to safety.”  
  
“And if you don’t, I’m shooting you,” Granny adds, nudging Belle’s shoulder with the rifle.  “Are we clear?”  
  
“Crystal,” Belle says.  “I’ll take you to them.”  
  
Emma nods - she can tell that Belle means what she says about helping them.  “Well then,” she says, “I guess you better take a seat and tell us exactly how you’re going to help us rescue my boyfriend.”  
  
As they all sit down at the table, Emma’s adrenaline finally starts to wear off.  Granny passes the gun to Ruby, who keeps it aimed at Belle, and even Robin has found his gun and has it out, just in case Emma’s former friend tries something.  As Granny brews coffee, and as the rays of sunshine peeking through the curtains remind Emma that it’s mid-morning already, she is surprised she doesn’t feel more exhausted (but all that she can think about is Killian, and how she thinks that she loves him, and how she’s not going to let anything happen to him, not now and not ever).    
  
She accepts a cookie that Ruby passes to her with a smile (she’s glad that Ruby’s here, even if she’s not thrilled that she was lied to again).  With renewed resolve, she turns back to the table and focuses on their discussion.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. twelve

12.

The table in Granny's kitchen is littered with empty plates, half-drunk mugs of tea, and maps of Sagobok and diagrams of Cassidy's mansion scribbled on the backs of shipping invoices and today's newspaper. Outside the apartment, the large clock in the center of the town square not too far away chimes 10 o'clock in the morning.

 

It feels like it is much, much later.

 

Emma stretches, listening to the faint sound of Granny talking with her employee (she can't hear a word they're saying but she almost feels sorry for the boy because Granny does not sound pleased with him). Ruby is doing the dishes at the sink, while Belle stares at one of the diagrams of the mansion, chewing her lip in thought.

 

Belle swears that Killian is being held in the basement ("Rumpel doesn't do his own dirty work" she points out, "but he will when it comes to Killian" and Emma's heart seizes in her chest).

 

She's nervous - this plan they're hashing out is risky, and could end up with someone (all of them) hurt - but the thought of Killian at the mercy of that monster makes her feel sick, knowing there is so very little she can do to help him.

 

"What about guards?" Robin asks, leaning on the table. Emma can tell that he's tired - they all are suffering from jet lag and their adrenaline is flagging badly while they brainstorm what to do.

 

"Not in issue if you're with me. Rumpel only keeps a small security staff - no one would be foolish enough to threaten his home," Belle points out. "There's always the back entrance - " she grabs another map, starts to play with it.

 

Regina messes with the food in front of her, destroying a scone with her fingers, and Emma is once again appreciative of the fact that they're still here.

 

"Are you sure you don't want to go with Doc?" Emma asks Regina, who brushes off the crumbs and shrugs. This is not the first time that she's offered to smuggle them out of Eira - Leroy's brother is willing to drive them to Amsterdam or somewhere else so they could catch a flight home - but they both turned the offer down.

 

"He's our friend too," Regina says quietly, glancing over at Robin and catching her boyfriend's eyes. "I don't think either of us are leaving."

 

Robin nods. "No offense, your highness, but I've known him far longer than you," he says, "and he's put up with more than his fair share of my -" he clears his throat "shenanigans than needed. If I have to go against a prime minister bent on taking over your country, then I'll do it."

 

"He's not a monster," Belle protests quietly, and Regina's eyebrows meet her hairline.

 

"Oh really?" she asks, sarcasm tripping from each word. "What do you call someone that blackmailed you into working for him, ordered you to bring back the princess of _your_ country with her boyfriend as well as kill her bodyguard, and then abducts said boyfriend and holds him hostage until you can bring _your future queen_ to meet him?" Regina shrugs. "And that's just in the past 24 hours. Shall I go on?"

 

Belle shakes her head. "He's not a monster," she insists.

 

"So what is he, then?" Emma snaps, patience wearing thin. "If he's not a monster like you keep saying, then would he have ordered Graham's execution or kidnapped Killian?" Belle glances up at her with this outburst, and Emma musters up her strength and courage, keeps her gaze steady until Belle looks away.

 

"What about this?" Belle asks, pointing to the new route she's drawn through Sagobok to Gold's mansion. "They'll be expecting us anyway," she refers back to her phone, "and I'm pretty sure the cell reception is good."

 

Emma glances at the map, sliding it over to Regina and Robin. It looks good - about as good as any map, she guesses. "Okay. Ruby, when did Leroy say he would be back with the car?"

 

Ruby pulls her phone out of her pocket, checks it. "In about ten minutes."

 

"So we're all clear on what we're doing once we're inside?" Emma checks. Robin and Regina nod, and Belle purses her lips before nodding. "Okay - we've got about ten minutes. Everyone grab what they need before we head out."

 

Robin pushes back from the chair and Regina follows him, leaving her alone with Belle and Ruby. Ruby grabs the empty mugs off the table and proceeds to clean them, but Emma knows she'll be listening in. She's still not okay with nearly all of her roommates being connected (one way or another) to her home, but she supposes that there's nothing she can do about it.

 

"Your American accent is really good," Emma tells Ruby, who turns away from the sink and smiles.

 

"Thanks - I want to be an actress, so I figure I better practice all that I can," she says before turning back to the dishes, and Emma glances back at Belle, who sits with her hands in her lap, watching the exchange between Emma and Ruby as if they're back in their dorm room.

 

Belle's appearance at Granny's, and the bits and pieces of the story that she's put together, makes Emma wonder what it is about Cassidy that draws the young girl in - power? Connections? Is this just blackmail? She doesn't think that’s it, because no amount of blackmail can inspire the amount of loyalty that has shown on occasion during this whole ordeal.

 

Emma looks at Belle. "Why are you doing this?"

 

Belle frowns. "What do you mean?"

 

Emma shifts, moving so that her legs are crossed on the chair. "Why are you helping us?"

 

"I already told you - "

 

Emma waves her hand dismissively. "No, I get that - you don't want to see Killian hurt, you don't believe that Cassidy will keep his word. But why are you here in the first place? You only agreed to save your own skin, not his." She looks up at the girl, ready to ask the question she's been curious about all morning. "What is it about him that makes you so loyal?"

 

Belle smiles wistfully. "Love," she says, as if it's the only answer there is (Emma doesn't buy that).

 

Emma scoffs. "Really?" she replies. "I can see money, or power, or wealth or connections or something else but - he sounds like a beast. How can you love someone like that?"

 

Belle just shrugs, the faint smile still on her lips. "I just do. I didn't expect to fall in love with him - when I first met him, he was meeting with my father and they had just had a disagreement. But my father invited him to spend time with us, on our yacht - to broker the deal, I guess - but as I got to know him, I realized that there was good in him, even if only I could see it."

 

Emma places her hands on the table. "He wants to depose my mother, Belle," Emma says, realizing she sounds like she's talking to a child (and she's not, but Belle is making this seem so simple and it can't be, someone can't have any good when they're trying so hard to take over a country, to destroy someone who never meant to hurt them - )

 

Belle nods. "I know, and I don't agree with that. Believe me when I say that I love your mother, Emma, and that I respect her as my queen and sovereign."

 

Emma barks out a laugh. "Yeah? Not enough to follow her orders instead of Cassidy's." Emma pauses, frowns. “You said he had something on your father, but you should have just said that you loved him."

 

"He does have something on my father - and our relationship is secondary. I'm not doing this because I love him - if that was the case, you'd be in his hands already." The clear conviction she has when she says this chills Emma to the core. "Everything I have done in the past few months - everything I have done against you - has been because of what he has on my father. Lying to your mother, lying to Leroy and Graham - lying to you..." Belle takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders. "That is, until now. Everything that I am doing now, I'm doing because I love him, and because I believe that there still is good in him."

 

“Why now?” Emma asks. “What changed?”

 

Belle swallows, and Emma can see her blink back tears. “Graham. He was - “ her voice catches and she bites her lip, trying to regain control. “He was nice to me. He took care of me, when we were in the US.” She meets Emma’s eyes, and Emma shivers (the sadness in their depths mirrors her own). “He was my friend, and I killed him.”

 

The clock in the corner of the room ticks loudly, and Emma studies Belle. She can tell the other girl is serious with her intentions - she does believe that this, whatever this is (rescue? Death trap?) will save Cassidy. Emma's just not sure that the man can be saved anymore, let alone whether he should be.

 

Besides, that doesn't excuse all that Belle did that got them to this point.

 

Emma nods, processing Belle’s words.

 

"Even after we get Killian back, I'll never forgive you for Graham," she says, voice tight, a sob gathering in her chest when she thinks about the man. Belle looks away, her face changing (she looks unwell, tired and stressed, and Emma wonders what the cost of all of this actually is for the girl).

 

"Even after we get Killian back," she replies, "I'll never forgive myself."

 

Silence settles over the room, heavy and thick, and none of them dare try to break it because _Graham is dead_ and Emma is still coming to grips with that - with the fact that he won't be there to escort her to and from classes or eat lunch with her in the food court (if she even goes back to school now) and she doesn't even know what happened to his body and -

 

Ruby's phone beeps. "Leroy's back," she tells them.

 

Emma takes a deep breath, glancing at Belle, who looks oddly brave in spite of the circumstances.

 

"Let's go save Killian," Emma says.

 

…

 

This is not how he thought he would spend today.

 

Killian goes quietly (because what else can he do? He can't fight, not against Gold and the thugs that are waiting for them at the foot of the stairs). He can't run, because running could very well result in his death.

 

He stays silent, thinking about Emma and her smile and the way that she looks at him like he's something worth saving, and he takes a deep breath as they put a bag over his head and maneuver him roughly into a waiting car.  

 

"Where are we going?" Killian asks, though he should know better, because all his effort gains him is silence, and the sound of the heavy labored breathing of the gigantic thugs that surround him.

 

There is a part of him that wants to lash out - to call Gold names, to rant and thrash and cause as much of a ruckus as possible so they'll either kill him now or knock him unconscious and save him whatever Gold has in mind. But he doesn't, because there's Emma now. He's always been good about taking care of himself, but his self-preservation has never extended to another person like it is right now, with Emma, and the thought of making it through this so that he can see her again.

 

So he keeps his mouth shut.

 

The ride through the city is full of starts and stops and he traces the map mentally in his head, trying to picture where they're going and figure out the final destination. There are times when Gold mumbles something softly to the driver, who loops back and around and Killian wonders if they're deliberately trying to confuse him, to muddle his senses. Finally, he feels the car go down an incline, and come to a stop, and he realizes that they are here - his final destination.

 

Killian is pulled roughly out of the car, his left shoulder slamming into the vehicle. He cries out in pain, but the bag muffles it. Ignoring his injury, they drag him half-walking, half-stumbling, until he's thrown into a chair, arms bound behind him, legs tied to the chair as well.

 

He's surprised to learn, when they take the bag off his head, that he's been here before.

 

His eyes dart around the room - he's at Gold's residence, he knows this much - taking in the overly-ornate furniture, the heavy bookshelves filled with leather-bound books ( _to muffle the screams_ , Gold sneered when he was in this room last time). There is a gaudy chandelier hanging overhead, casting light over the ostentatious use of gold leafing through the room - a library, an office, Killian has no idea what it is except that it is the room where Gold killed Milah.

 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he can't remain silent any longer.

 

"Returning to the scene of the crime, mate?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, trying so hard to remain cool despite the turmoil that rages within him (he can still see the way that her body slumped forward in her bonds, the way her dark curls fell in front of her face, hiding the gunshot from his eyes as he pulled and pulled at the ties around his wrists until they bled).  

 

"What crime?" Gold asks coolly, dispassionately, watching the thugs leave and the door close behind them.

 

This infuriates Killian, and so he snaps, "Are you going to pretend it didn't happen? That you didn't kill your wife in this room?"

 

Gold leans against the large desk that occupies a corner of the room. He tilts his head, looks at Killian. "I could hardly call her my wife after she took you into her bed, could I?" he responds, and Killian feels a chill go down his spine at Gold's tone of voice - half cruel, half smug, and Gold just continues before Killian can even respond.

 

"The last time I checked, marriage vows included the words 'for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse' - shame that whore didn't believe in them," Gold points out, and Killian struggles against his bonds (he may not love Milah the way that he loves Emma, the pain of his lost love faded into a dull ache, but he will not have her slandered in front of him without protest).

 

"Now now, Killian, that will get you nowhere," Gold says, grabbing his cane in his hand. He approaches Killian, walking slowly, limping slightly (this is new - the Gold he knew before never limped). "Not that you're going anywhere, as it is."

 

"You've got me right where you want me," Killian points out. "So what are you planning to do with me?"

 

"Take my time," Gold says, and before Killian can blink, the cane is moving towards his face, the solid gold handle making contact with his cheekbone and his vision is blinded by a flash of pain. His head whips to the side and before he can react, before he can take a breath Gold is bringing the cane back for another hit - this time, his ribs. He both feels and hears a cracking in his chest, a sudden and fiery pain that increases in intensity within the space of a few seconds.

 

"I've waited a long time to do this to you," Gold spits out, teeth gritted, but he takes a step back. "A very long time."

 

"Milah is dead," Killian says, spitting out blood from where he bit his cheek after Gold hit him. "What more do you want from me?"

 

"I would have taken your life," Gold tells him, "but I thought you had enough sense to run, and to never think of Eira again."

 

“What did you hope to gain from letting me live?” Killian asks, finally voicing the question that has kept him awake at night. “Why let me live, and kill her?”

 

Gold crosses his hands in front of him, holding his cane between his palms. “Because I know you, Killian Jones - you’re just like your brother, loyal to a fault, whether it be your country or your family or the woman you loved. Death would have been too kind of a punishment for your actions. I wanted you to suffer, as I did, when you stole my wife.”

 

“Can’t steal what’s been freely given, mate,” Killian points out, enjoying the rage that seems to course through Gold as his interruption. It earns him a hard blow to his knees from the cane, but Killian takes some pride in knowing that he angered the man so much he lost his composure (the pain in his leg distracts him from the pain in his heart when Gold talks about Liam).

 

“She deserved to die,” Gold yells, “and you deserved to live with the knowledge that her association with you, with your ridiculous movement, cost Milah her life. If she hadn’t left me for you, she would have been spared. Her death was your fault.” Gold stops, struggles to regain composure. When he does, he takes a deep breath and smooths his hand down the front of his suit.

 

“Of course, we all make foolish mistakes.” He pauses, shakes his head though a wry smile spreads across his face. "I didn't think you'd be foolish enough to involve yourself with the princess."

 

"A mistake," Killian says, "that I would gladly make again." _Emma does not to deserve to be part of this_ , he thinks, fear spreading as he wonders what Gold is planning, if it involves Emma -

 

"Oh I'm sure you would, but you won't have to - you see, she'll be on her way here by now...just in time," he promises, and the malevolent glee that spreads across his face makes Killian feel sick and frightened.

 

"Just in time for what? What have you done?" he asks, and Gold merely smiles.

 

"I've arranged things so that your princess will come to save you, noble hearted daughter of the noble Queen that she is," Gold swings his cane, the metal handle catching Killian below his chin, forcing his head back. "And when she does...you finally become useful. You become more than just a defiant reminder of my regrettable restraint."

 

Another hard blow lands on his already-injured shoulder, another on the other side of his torso, and a final on his right knee, accompanied by a resounding crack and sharp pain throughout his leg. Gold lets out a laugh, and steps back, and Killian struggles to breathe as pain spreads, radiating outwards from every place the hard head of the cane made contact with his body.

 

He spits out the blood that pools in his mouth, glaring up at Gold angrily, concern for Emma surging through him (if he can stand the torture long enough to keep Gold's mind off Emma, if Emma does come....)

 

"Emma is worth more than me," he proclaims, "how useful can I possibly be?"

 

Gold crouches down so that he's eye-level with Killian. He grabs him by the hair and pulls him up, making him stare him in the face (Killian grits his teeth against the pain, his entire body throbbing, every breath a struggle - Gold must have broken a rib or two).

 

"You, dearie, have become a bargaining chip," he tells Killian. "Your little princess won't let anything happen to you. Even now, I suspect she's on her way here to try to rescue you." He lets go of Killian's head, and it falls forward, the effort to hold it up too much in the face of all of the pain that screams through his body (he has failed her, this is too much, he can't fight the pain which dulls the edges of his vision- )

 

"I'm not that important," Killian repeats, spitting out more blood, but Gold just shrugs, and in that moment, Killian wonders just what his life is worth.

 

He's been here before, frightened for the safety of the woman he loves, but this time it's different. This time, Gold can't just kill Emma and frame it as a domestic dispute turned suicide. Gold can't touch a hair on Emma's head, no matter how much he may want to, because her mother is still the Queen and she is still the next in lime, and his coup has yet to happen, his final plan yet to fall into place (unless this is it, unless - )

 

"No, you're not," Gold admits, breaking into Killian's thoughts, "but I'm certain she doesn't see it that way."

 

And as he says that, he raises his cane and brings it down and everything suddenly (mercifully) goes black.

 

…

 

Everything happens exactly like Belle says it will.

 

The personal security lets them in, frisking them lightly and allowing them to pass without many questions (neither of the men will look her in the eye as they search her for weapons, and they fidget nervously once they give her the all clear). She pretends she doesn't mind, holds her head high as they exchange low words with Belle, studying each of their faces, studying their voices. When they finally move, she smiles at each of them, slightly gratified by how deeply uncomfortable they look.

 

Belle leads them through a hallway and down a staircase, and down another narrow hallway. They stop outside of a closed door, and hesitates (Emma almost wonders if she's going to turn to them, to ask them something, but there is a camera mounted in the corner of the wall above the door - if she does turn, it'll be obvious that something is wrong).

 

"We're ready," Emma says quietly, the only other sound is the low hum of a heating unit behind a wall somewhere. Belle nods, and when she finally opens a door, Emma can see Cassidy's back. He is talking on the phone, and doesn't know they're behind him. The room is a cross between an office and a library - desk, armchairs, no windows, heavy books on ornate shelves (the decor is too much, too ostentatious, bordering on tacky). He is staring at something and when he finishes his phone conversation he puts his phone in his pocket and his hands behind him, holding a cane that has as smear of blood on its head (Regina gasps, and that is when he turns).

 

His eyes fall on her immediately, and he bows solemnly. "Your highness - how good of you to join me," he says, gesturing for her to enter the room and when she does, she sees Killian bound to a chair, his entire body slumped forward, and her stomach drops (he can't be dead). She knows her mission here is to set him free, but she also knows that Cassidy is probably looking for her weaknesses, and Killian is her most obvious one (he can't be dead). She allows her eyes to pass over his form one final time before she takes a deep breath and looks back at Cassidy.

 

"He's unconscious, not dead," Cassidy remarks casually, as if unconsciousness is a common state (maybe it is, when you're an asshole like him). Emma nods, watching as Belle moves to the corner of the room, perching on the back of chair. Cassidy turns his attention to Regina and Robin, who linger behind Emma.

 

They're here because they have a role to play, but the minute he looks at them, Emma becomes scared (she dragged them into this, it's her fault, she should never have got on that plane, they would never have come here, she's risking their lives, this is never going to work - )

 

She glances over at Robin, who looks at her from over Cassidy's head, and smiles, and some of her fear abates (slightly).  

 

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced - Rumpel Cassidy," he says, taking a step forward, hand outstretched. He limps towards them, the other hand coming to rest on his cane and smearing blood (Killian's blood) across his left hand (Emma tries not to flinch at the thought, tries to keep her eyes on Cassidy).

 

Regina glances at Emma, carefully evaluating the situation as Cassidy’s extends his hand towards them. She wraps her arms tightly around herself. "Regina Mills," she says, introducing herself, and Cassidy smiles.

 

"Daughter of the hotel magnate," he responds _\- of course he knows, Belle must have told him_ \- and Regina reacts appropriately: she smile politely and nods. "I wish we could have met under better circumstances - I admire your father's empire."

 

“I wish we could have met when you didn’t have blood on your hands,” Regina says with a pointed glances towards his outstretched hand, which has a small splatter of Killian’s blood on it.  

 

Cassidy smirks, and Emma can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed by Regina’s words. He shakes his head, turning to his attention to Robin, who doesn’t bother to introduce himself, wrapping his arm around Regina instead. Cassidy plays off the rebuff astonishingly well (of course he would, he’s a seasoned politician), moving away from Robin and Regina which is exactly what Emma wants - for them to be seen and not hurt, to be witnesses to whatever fuckery is about to unfold.

 

"I'll admit, I'm not shocked that you came rushing to save your love, your highness," Cassidy says, turning back to Emma. "After all, like mother, like daughter."

 

"I wasn't aware that my father's life was ever in danger," Emma points out calmly, and Cassidy merely shrugs.

 

"I'm not talking about your father," he remarks, and Emma frowns, confused. From the corner of the room, Belle gasps, which only serves to make Emma more confused (something is going on, something is going on around her and she's not sure but it's not good, it can't be).

 

"You didn't," Belle says, sounding shocked and Cassidy merely gives her a long, lingering look before turning his attention back to Emma, who is growing more and more confused by the moment.

 

"Didn't what?" Emma presses, looking from Belle to Cassidy, but Cassidy just smiles at her smugly.

 

"Let's just say that after many years, all of the pieces have fall into place," he tells her, walking past her towards his desk. He leans against it, crosses his arms over his chest, as waiting for her to ask more questions.

 

She chooses not to. "I know about your vendetta against my mother," Emma says, squaring her shoulders. "I know how much you hate Killian. I don't know what the two have in common, but I feel like we can at least settle one of these issues today."

 

"Oh absolutely," Cassidy agrees. "And we will, once your mother arrives."

 

Emma gasps. "My mother?" she asks, taking a step forward. "What did you do to her? You can’t kidnap her.” He can't do that - he can't just take the queen and bring her into his pit of despair - that's all kinds of wrong. There are even statutes and conventions about harming a sovereign in such a way…

 

Emma struggles to maintain control in light of this new information, trying to think of what her mother would want her to do, but right now all the alarm bells are ringing in her head and _did she lead her mother into a trap?_

 

"You came here of your own free will, your highness - so will your mother. She's en route from the palace now." There is a faint smile - of victory? - on Cassidy's face, and it makes Emma sick.

 

Emma wraps her arms around herself, trying to stop the shaking that is starting in her core when she thinks about her mother coming here, risking her life for her foolish mistake (why did she think she could take on Cassidy alone? He has out-planned them every step of the way.). "Why is she coming here?" she asks cautiously, not sure she wants to know the answer but knowing that she needs to hear it - that they all need to hear it.

 

"Because you're here. Your bodyguard was found dead on the tarmac of the airport, your highness - your mother has been trying to contact you since morning." Cassidy's smile grows wider. "All it took was word from me that I knew where you were, and she came running."

 

 _Of course_ Mary-Margaret would come to wherever her only child was, of course she would seek her out even if it meant going into the enemy's lair - her mother believed in hope, and nothing would stand between her and the hope that she could see her daughter again. Emma sighs, closes her eyes. She's made a mess of everything. She should never have tried to go up against Cassidy - he’s been playing this game far longer than she has (she’s made such a mess).

 

"You said all the pieces fell into place," Regina interjects, drawing attention away from Emma, allowing her to breathe for a moment, to collect her thoughts without being under Cassidy’s scrutiny.

 

Cassidy nods. "They have. I have a bargaining chip, in her boyfriend here," he gestures with his cane towards Killian, who groans slightly, who seems to be regaining consciousness slowly (she wonders how long it will take for him to regain it fully). "I have you. And I will have her undivided attention. Finally, matters can be set to rest."

 

"I don't understand," Emma says to Cassidy, sliding her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "You were paid for your land. What else did you want?"

 

"It's not the money, princess," Cassidy tells her.

 

"Then what is it?" Emma demands.

 

"I lost everything when your mother forced me to sell _my_ land. I had just married my wife, and she became convinced that I simply rolled over for your mother, let her claim the land my father passed on to me. She thought I was a coward. She thought I should have fought harder, but instead I just let the crown seize my land."

 

Cassidy stops, grits his teeth, and Emma can see years of anger, of frustration, twisting his face into a grotesque mask of a broken and lost man. "She left me, and took my boy with her. And then she found this one here, who was the very opposite of a coward in her mind." He jerks his thumb towards Killian, who is moving his head slightly, another groan escaping his lips (she wants to run over and comfort him, to untie his bounds, but she can't - she has to stay focused on Cassidy, to show some sort of strength).

 

"So what did you do?" Emma asks trying to draw his attention away from Killian (his pain is her pain - a physical ache inside of her).

 

“What do you think I did, your highness?” he asks, anger dripping from every syllable.

 

Emma takes a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. She’s got to be careful, treading on dangerous ground right now with this man who clearly doesn’t value anyone save for himself. She knows that he won’t hurt her, that he can’t - she’s a valuable commodity to him - but Killian and the others are not safe. Maybe he won’t hurt anyone as long as she keeps him talking. “I’ve heard rumors,” she says carefully, cautiously, meeting his eyes.

 

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re waiting for me to admit that I hurt her, your highness?” he asks. “That I tied her up to that chair, and put a bullet in her head? Because I did.” He’s smiling like a crocodile, and Emma suddenly sees why this man is so intimidating. His hubris is startling, and everything - a decades long quest for revenge - makes so much sense now.

 

“Are you waiting for me to admit that I will do the same to your lover? I think it’s fairly obvious exactly what will happen, your highness, should my demands not be satisfied.” Cassidy smiles, and Emma can’t look at him anymore. She looks away, at Robin, who looks angry, and Regina, who looks so scared (Emma never thought this was possible, Regina is so tough). Emma can see her tight grip on Robin’s hand and arm, and Emma’s not sure if it’s to keep him from attacking Cassidy or to keep herself calm.

 

Emma shakes her head. "And you decided to take over my mother's country? Your own country to replace the land you sold? What are you hoping to achieve?"

 

"Respect,” he says, spitting out the word before continuing, a sneer spreading across his face. “I've spent years of my life trying to gain a modicum of respect from the _woman_ who ripped everything away from me.”

 

"Sounds like you did a good job of that yourself, mate," Killian says feebly and it takes every fiber of Emma's being to not to reach for him. He glances at her, face swollen and bruised. "Are you all right?"

 

"I'm fine," Emma tells him, looking back at Cassidy. "He won't touch me."

 

"You're right, dearie," Cassidy agrees, "but I don't need to hurt you to make my intentions known."

 

There is a commotion from the hallway, the click of high heels against the tile floor outside, and soon Emma's mother bursts into the room. Her eyes quickly find Emma and she runs to her, wrapping her arms around her, and it feels so good to be held by her mother, so good to have her hand stroking Emma's hair and her voice saying _Emma, Emma, I'm so happy you're all right._

 

Emma embraces her mother, inhaling the perfume that is hers (apples and honeysuckle, she's missed her mom so much) before breaking away.  

 

"Where's Dad?" she asks quietly, and Mary-Margaret strokes her daughter's face delicately.

 

"At the palace - I came here on my own, as agreed," she says, for Cassidy's benefit (obviously). Mary-Margaret takes a moment to study her daughter before she even realizes that there are others in the room. She sees Killian, badly beaten, and her eyes narrow.

 

"I've met you before," she says slowly, taking a step forward before Emma grabs her arm, keeps her where she is. Killian nods.

 

"Aye, your majesty," he says, bowing his head (just the sound of his voice, rough and strained, causes Emma pain). "We met several years ago."

 

Mary-Margaret frowns, her brows forming a deep V as she studies Killian, then turns towards Cassidy.

 

"I assume you're responsible for this young man's current state?" she asks politely. Cassidy does not bow, does not demure before his queen (Emma should have known better, she shouldn't have expected him to show a modicum of respect towards her mother).

 

"You assume correctly," he confirms, and Emma can feel her mother tense. She tightens her jaw and raises her chin, and Emma watches as she moves so that Emma is behind her, blocking her from Cassidy's view.

 

"Your issues are with me," Mary-Margaret says firmly. "Leave them out of it."

 

"His issues are ridiculous," Emma interjects, and her mother sighs, reaching behind her for her Emma's hand, squeezing it in warning to keep Emma quiet. Emma curses under her breath. She’s letting her anger show, and she shouldn’t, not in front of her mother or Cassidy.

 

"His issues are his own," Mary-Margaret tells her, "and while I may not agree with him, they have nothing to do with anyone but me.” She sighs again, and Emma watches as her shoulders sag, and though she cannot see her mothers face, it’s clear that the queen feels defeated.

 

"You and I have a history, Prime Minister Cassidy," Mary-Margaret says. "I know it's one that neither of us are proud of, and I am more than aware of what you have been doing to diminish my power, and to harm my reign. I’m here because I’m tired of this constant struggle. I’ve done everything I could to keep my daughter safe, to keep my country strong, but no matter what I do - no matter how much hope I have that I’ve made the right choice, you manage to outmaneuver me. What will it take to end this before any more blood is spilled? Must I abdicate? What must I do to make sure that no one else is hurt or killed on my account?"

 

Emma glances at Regina, who is staring at her mother with an open mouth, before the words sink in. She’s so surprised that her mouth falls open slightly before she closes it, quickly (her mother always told her that was a spectacularly undignified action). Her head is spinning at the thought that her mother would even consider abdicating but she did send Emma away, tried to give her what could be her best chance - and she has ruined it. If Emma had never come back, maybe her mother would have been able to keep her throne ( _why does she never consider the consequences of her actions? What sort of queen doesn’t think about that?_ )

 

"Oh, my dear, I don't need you to do anything that hasty..." Cassidy says. "You and I both know that the people of Eira love their queen. But don’t forget that while I don’t own the people, I do control most of Eira already. Your parliament, civil service, military officers, and most of the enlisted are already mine. Business leaders, major industry - mine. Blackmail and bribery are far more efficient at controlling a country than birthright. It’s been quite easy, really."

 

"Then what would suffice? What can I do to make amends for the slight you believe I gave you all those years ago?" Mary-Margaret asks, and Cassidy merely smiles.

 

"I want an apology."

 

"All this for an apology? That's your plan?" Emma asks, outraged, but Mary-Margaret turns her head sharply, giving Emma a frustrated look that freezes her in her tracks (she is out of her depth here, stepping into a feud that goes back for far too long).

 

"You owe me more than an apology, but that's the start. I want adequate compensation for my land. I want your daughter," he points to Emma, "to marry my son. I want him to have the life I always intended for him, the life he deserves - wealthy, with all of his needs and desires met, and people bowing to him, not the other way around. And you will bear his children, including the next king or queen of Eira. My blood will sit on the throne of Eira forever."

 

"No!" Emma objects at the same time as Mary Margaret, who says, “ _Absolutely not_ \- I’ve seen how your son looks at my daughter.”  

 

Cassidy chuckles at their response, leans heavily on his cane. Mary-Margaret shakes her head, and Emma darts a quick glance at Killian, who is staring at one particular spot of blood on the floor.

 

“Take my throne, take my legacy, but you cannot take my daughter’s freedom. What else?" Mary-Margaret asks. "What else do I need to do to appease you?"

 

“I’m afraid I’ve given you my terms,” Cassidy says smugly. “I won’t accept anything else.

 

"And what if we don’t agree?" Emma asks. Cassidy merely reaches into his coat pocket, and pulls out a small pistol.

 

"The young man dies," he says, making the decision implacably clear, because even if Mary-Margaret doesn't know who Killian is, she will not risk another one of her subjects, not by the way that she flinches at the sight of the gun.

 

“Cassidy,” she says, “Your grievance is with me, not my daughter. Leave her out of this.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong. My grievance is with her as much as it is you, because one day she will rule this country when you are gone. Your family owes my family, your majesty, and I will not let either of you forget it.”

 

“Rumpel,” Belle calls from her corner of the room. “This is too much.”

 

“Kindly keep your comments confined to areas you know about, like books and how to kill people,” he snaps at Belle.

 

Mary-Margaret turns to her daughter, runs her hands down Emma's shoulders and arms. "Emma," she says softly, and Emma's eyes flick upwards, meeting her mother's.

 

"This has gone on too long. I don't want to live in fear anymore that someone will hurt you to get to me. I don't want to worry that you won't be safe - "

 

"You did what you thought was right," Emma says, swallowing harshly (she wants to look at Killian, but she doesn't, because looking at him would break her heart). "You offered him a fair settlement, from what I’ve heard."

 

Mary-Margaret nods. "I tried. I did what I thought would take care of our country. I never thought it would end up like this."

 

Emma's lower lip quivers, and she looks back at Killian now, knowing his life is on the line, that if her mother doesn't agree, that Cassidy will kill him. Mary-Margaret takes a step closer, whispers to her daughter, "Who is he?"

 

Emma turns away, looks down at the ground, emotions swirling inside of her before looking up at her mother. "His name is Killian," she says, and before she can add more, her mother’s expression softens.

 

“You love him,” she says, glancing over towards Killian, awe and something else apparent in her voice. “Emma, I - “

 

Before she can finish and before Emma can respond, Cassidy calls out "Tick-tock, your majesty," from behind them.

 

Her mother takes a deep breath, and one final look between Killian and Emma before leaning forward to press a kiss on her forehead (and with that kiss, Emma can feel her freedom fade, can feel her future closing in on her like a dark shadow, threatening to consume her).

 

“Kill me.”

 

Emma turns suddenly, heart racing because that was Killian’s voice, Killian speaking to Cassidy (when she looks at him he’s so focused on Cassidy, jaw clenched and voice tight, and panic starts to rise inside of her). “Just do it. You want to do it. You’ve wanted to for years, since Milah left you for me. So do it. Just get it over with.”

 

“No,” Emma steps foward, “Killian, no - “

 

“I’ve done nothing but bring chaos into your life,” he says softly, meeting her eyes and her heart breaks. “I can’t save your crown or your mother’s crown or even my own life, but I can save you. I fucked up years ago, Emma, and I’ll always have to pay for that mistake - at least, while he’s around,” he adds, glancing at Cassidy.

 

“But I don’t care!” she says, starting to move towards him but her mother holds her back. “I don’t care - I just want to be with you.” She doesn’t care if her life has been turned upside down in the past month - it’s been the best month of her life, because instead of being the princess or royalty, she’s been _Emma_.

 

“I know,” he says, a sad smile spreading across his face. “And I want the same. But I know you’ll make a wonderful queen, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to prevent that from happening.” He laughs, a raspy laugh, and spits out blood onto the carpet. “I’m halfway dead already.”

 

There is an ache in her heart as she looks at him, beaten and bruised, broken and lost, but with that comes clarity. She’s tried to save him, to protect him from Cassidy, but she’s failed miserably. There is still one thing she can do (she hopes it will work).

 

“No,” she says calmly. “I won’t let you die.” She turns to her mother.

 

“Do you trust me?” she asks, and Mary-Margaret nods, though there is a look of apprehension on her face.

 

Then, she turns to Cassidy. “You said that if I marry your son, you will let Killian go, right?”

 

“That is correct,” Cassidy says. Emma nods.

 

“And if my mother apologizes, then you will stop threatening her throne?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And if we don’t, you’ll kill Killian.” Cassidy pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

 

“Your highness, the more you keep talking, the more I’m not sure that I actually want you to ascend to the throne or marry my son,” he remarks, trying to sound sarcastic but falling flat.

 

“Too bad, because I’m agreeing to it.” She doesn’t look at Killian, only focuses on Cassidy (they are too close to everything falling apart, they are too close to let things slip now - )

 

“Emma, no!” Killian yells, but Emma is so focused that she doesn’t react. There will be time, later, to explain (she blinks back tears at the anguish in his voice).

 

“Excellent,” Cassidy remarks with a genuine smile. “Perhaps I was too hard on you earlier, your highness - that was a smart decision.”

 

Emma nods, glancing over Cassidy’s shoulder at Regina, who looks absolutely stricken. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But now you have to let Killian go.”

 

"I'm afraid I can't let that happen just yet, your highness," Cassidy says. Mary-Margaret narrows her eyes.

 

"We’ve already agreed to your terms - let him go,” she says, clearly exasperated with him, and Cassidy shakes his head.

 

"Ah, I didn’t say _when_ I would release him. The young man and I have some unfinished business to attend to first," he says, and Emma snaps.

 

"Then finish it," she tells him, and Cassidy merely shrugs.

 

"As you wish." Cassidy walks behind Killian and, with a pocket knife, cuts Killian's bonds, gun still in his hand.

 

Killian stands up, shakes out his hands. He turns to Cassidy warily, cautiously, as if expecting another surprise. “Are you sure about this? You’ll let me go free in exchange for her word?” he asks (he does not look at Emma).

 

“As free as can be,” Cassidy remarks, extending the hand without the gun.

 

Killian swallows, closes his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and extending his hand as well.

 

There is a loud noise, and Emma blinks -

-    and Killian screams over and over and over again, and there is so much blood, and someone is yelling "Stop!" and Emma isn't sure if it's her or someone else and -

 

"Let this be a constant reminder of touching things that don’t belong to you," Emma thinks she hears Cassidy say.

 

"Rumpel!" someone yells, and Emma watches as Killian collapses on the floor, holding his hand to his chest and her mother tries to reach for her but she struggles, tries to launch herself at Killian (there are tears streaming down her face and she is crying and her mother lets go and she races across the room, reaching for him and there is so much blood - )

 

"Rumpel no!" someone says, and she shucks off her sweater, she has to stop the bleeding of his hand (oh god his hand, Killian's hand, Cassidy shot his hand) and she presses it to the wound, presses it and holds and Killian's screaming -

 

Emma looks down at Killian, and then up at her mother, and Regina and Robin who are waiting in the wings, and something is going on but she just keeps looking at Killian, keeps staring at his face, his eyes falling on her, bright vivid blue in the paleness of his face.

 

…

 

Regina is going to be sick.

 

She has never seen that much blood, has to look away because she can't stand her own blood let alone Killian's, she cannot handle this it's too much, too much all at once, blood on Emma's shirt as she clutches Killian and his wounded hand to her, as she looks down at him, crying, and Regina shifts closer to Robin.

 

She's going to be sick.

 

She's been on the edge of a breakdown since they stepped into this room and saw Killian unconscious, her adrenaline soaring, everything heightened as she waits for Cassidy to pay attention to her and Robin, to ask why they are there but it's apparent he likes an audience (which is fine, because he certainly has their attention after shooting Killian but then again, Belle is creating a distraction all her own).

 

 _This was not part of the plan_ , Regina thinks, unless it was added later, when she was grabbing her charging phone from the bedroom.

 

"Rumpel, NO!" the other woman yells, holding a gun up to Cassidy in a way that reminds Regina of the other night and Graham (she grips Robin's hand tighter as she remembers it, the memory so sharp that it's causing a visceral reaction in her, she's really going to be sick -). "This is not what you promised me!"

 

"No, it's what I promised _me_ ," Cassidy says, almost gleeful while Killian bleeds out on the floor and the rest of them stand around too shocked to move and Belle is standing there, still pointing a gun (bookworm has teeth).  

 

"You said you wouldn't hurt them," Belle says, her voice full of rage. "You lied to me."

 

"I didn't lie," Cassidy points out, "I said I wouldn't kill him. I never promised you I wouldn't hurt him. Details, dearie."

 

"Well it's a good thing that I called an ambulance," Belle says (if she bluffing? Regina can't even tell with this girl anymore). Cassidy's face goes dark.

 

"You didn't," he says, jaw tensed, and he turns to face Belle, giving her his full attention. To her credit, Belle doesn't wilt under his gaze - she just stands there, brave and steady in the face of danger.

 

No wonder they chose her as Emma's bodyguard.

 

"Did you lie when you said you loved me?" Belle asks, the gun still leveled at Cassidy's face. "Was that another lie?" Her voice cracks on the last word, and she swallows harshly, trying to remain composed.

 

Cassidy's face changes completely as Belle talks and he raises his hands, gun pointing at the ceiling. "Belle, that was no lie."

 

"Why should I trust you?" she says. "You told me you wanted to make amends with Killian. I knew something wasn't right, but I tried to believe you. I was foolish, and I wanted to believe you. I am DONE believing you."

 

She cocks the gun. "Sometimes people lie because they don't know any better. Sometimes people lie because they're scared. I thought maybe that was you, that you were afraid. But I see it now. You lie and steal because you can, because you’re good at it, because it’s the only way you think you can get what you think you deserve - their pity, or their obedience, or their love, or their money. You are never content with what you have - you always want more and you don't care who you have to hurt to get it. You lie because you are a deceitful, horrible monster, Rumpel Cassidy."

 

Regina feels frightened, because the look on Cassidy's face has gone from amused to distraught to vengeful and angry, just as it was a few minutes ago, and he tightens his grip on his gun.

 

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he says, devoid of any of the emotion that was present in his earlier plea, and he aims the gun towards Belle -

 

\- But just like with Graham, she is faster than him, and soon blood is blossoming through his pant leg. He gasps in surprise before falling to the ground, reaching for the area above his knee with a cry (more blood, Regina is swallowing the bile rising in her throat - )

 

"Be careful - I might have nicked the femoral artery," she tells him. "Bet you're glad I called that ambulance now, aren't you, _dearie_?"

 

He struggles to say something, to reach out to her, clearly in pain, but Belle steps over him, walking towards Regina. "Did you get that?" she asks.

 

Regina lets out a breath slowly, reaching for the microphone that Ruby hid tastefully in a scarf, and the small wire that runs to the phone in her pocket which Cassidy's guards failed to take, probably because they were with Belle. She pulls out the wire, holds the phone up to her ear. "I don't know - did you get that?"

 

"Loud and clear," Ruby says. "Robin's as well. I'm already making duplicates."

 

"And the ambulance?"

 

"Belle didn't call one in, but we did when we heard that Killian was hurt."

 

Regina lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding - Killian will be okay. It's a gunshot wound to his hand, and he’s in shock but Emma’s keeping pressure on it and help is on the way.

 

Ruby keeps talking in her ear and she tries to focus but the adrenaline is fading and she is so exhausted right now. "The royal guards are coming as well - Leroy is with the Prince, and he’s told him what's happened - they'll be coming to get you soon."

 

"Thank you, Ruby," Regina says, watching Emma and Killian in the corner of the room, so wrapped up in each other that they have no idea what is going on.

 

"Thank _you_ \- it was your idea to record whatever happened.”

 

It had been Regina’s idea, spawned from a story she heard her mother telling the Greek Crown Princess while on their yacht one summer – blackmail and wire tapping and clever uses for a phone, and it came to her sleep-deprived mind as they debated ideas at Granny’s table. Lucky for them, Leroy’s brother Dopey was tech-savvy enough to hack their phones, and with Belle’s help and a downloaded app, they were set.

 

"Promises made under duress don't hold up in a court of law," Regina says quietly. "That might be the most important thing my mother ever taught me."

 

"Yeah, well, you just might have saved this country."

 

Regina doubts that but she nods anyway, even if the other girl isn’t here. She keeps listening to Ruby say something else, but her attention is focused on the Queen and on Belle, who is kneeling in front of her, placing the gun at her feet. There is no small amount of tension in Belle’s body as she ignores the cries of her lover and refuses to make eye contact with her Queen.

 

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so very sorry for what I've done."

 

The Queen glances from Emma to Belle to Regina and Robin, poise completely broken, and Regina can't blame her. All that's happened in the past fifteen minutes has been a lot to handle. She takes a deep breath before turning to Belle and saying, “I hope you understand that you’ll be under arrest.”

 

Belle nods. “Yes, your highness. And I’m aware of the charges.”

 

The Queen nods, and looks at the gun apprehensively. She exchanges words with Belle that are too low for Regina to hear. Robin wraps his arm around Regina, who slips her phone into her pocket (she's too tired to care if Ruby is still talking) and leans her head against his shoulder.

 

Just then, they hear sirens – ambulances and police cars, she knows – and within minutes there are paramedics and police who come flooding into the basement. A man with blond hair runs for the Queen first, then Emma, and Regina realizes he must be the Prince. Gold and Killian are taken away quickly, Emma and her father following the ambulances while the Queen lingers, ensuring that Belle is put in handcuffs and taken away.

 

“At least he’ll be taken care of,” Robin remarks, as they watch their friend leave.

 

“Yeah,” Regina agrees, wrapping her arms around his chest an pressing her face into his flannel shirt. “Oh my god you smell.”

 

Robin takes an exaggerated sniff of her hair. “You too, love.”

 

“Think that we’ll get a shower sometime soon?” Regina asks.

 

“Hopefully,” a voice says behind them, and they both turn to find Emma’s mother, the Queen, behind them. “I’m sorry we weren’t properly introduced – I’m Mary-Margaret, Emma’s mother.”

 

She holds out a hand in greeting, and Regina hesitates before taking it and attempts a curtsy (the royals she knows don’t have a throne or a crown anymore and she’s not quite sure what to do) but Mary-Margaret does not seem to be bothered at all by her lack of proper protocol.

 

“Regina Mills,” she says, “and this is my boyfriend Robin Locksley.”

 

“How very nice to meet you both,” Mary-Margaret says. “Are you friends with Emma?”

 

Regina nods. “Yes. And Killian.”

 

“Her boyfriend?” Emma’s mother asks, and Regina feels a bit awkward at discussing the particulars, but if one thing is for sure, Emma and Killian are quite together.

 

“Yes – he’s my roommate,” Robin tells her, and the Queen smiles.

 

“They’re both heroes,” a voice behind them says – Leroy, who must have arrived with the prince. “Without them, we would never have collected hard evidence of Gold’s crimes against the crown, or been known to send help.”

 

“I thank you. I would certainly like to learn more about both of you and why exactly you are here,” the Queen says. “Would you mind terribly if you rode back with me? Emma’s father is with her and I think it would be best that you get settled in at the palace. You both look exhausted.”

 

Regina looks at Robin, then nods. “That would be fantastic. Thank you, your highness.”

 

They head up the stairs, out the door and into the waiting limo, and Regina falls into the comfy seat next to Robin, resting her head on his shoulder. She allows her breathing to slow down, listening to Leroy explain to the Queen everything that has happened, and drifts off to sleep.

 

 


	13. thirteen

**13**

Mary-Margaret has been trained to deal with many things - after all, there is proper royal protocol for everything from being taken hostage to having someone spill soup all over a couture gown at a state dinner. Her training, however, has failed her right now.

 

The ride from the palace to the hospital should be a short one but it feels like an eternity: she keeps wishing she were already there and yet, wishing that she wasn't. She's not ready to deal with what happened in Rumpel Cassidy's basement, not ready to see her daughter in agony over a boyfriend that Mary-Margaret just learned existed (not to mention one that looks vaguely familiar). That's why she sent David ahead: she needed to catch her breath, to pull her thoughts together in the privacy of her royal car - to be poised and ready, like the Queen that she is.

 

(It's also easier to take Emma's friends to the palace, to find them rooms and get them situated, to play hostess instead of mother. It is a familiar dance, once that she has much experience with, and it allows her mind to slow down, her thoughts to collect; it is too much to deal with the enormity of what apparently has gone on in Emma's life without her.)

 

She has doted on Emma her entire life, and sending her to the United States was supposed to protect Emma from threats to her throne and to Emma's future. She never expected Emma to find someone from Eira there - not to mention someone also threatened by Cassidy, because clearly that young man ( _Killian_ , she thinks) has some history with him. She doesn't know how it was even possible, for Cassidy to have enemies outside Eira, but it had become apparent that she had seriously underestimated him.

 

Apparently you can learn multiple new things in one day.

 

On the ride to the palace, Robin and Regina (friends of Killian's who are have become friends with Emma, Mary-Margaret learns) filled in bits and pieces of how they ended up in Eira, from Belle's fake report that Emma was directed to return home to Graham's death and Granny's role (she smiles when she learns that Granny has helped her daughter, and for the moment tries not to picture that sharp young officer she sent with her daughter dead). They tell her about Killian's abduction and Belle's defection from Cassidy's camp, and finally their plan to record everything that was said at Cassidy’s home and transmit it back to Ruby, where it would reach the proper authorities. Mary-Margaret did not enlighten them that she also entered Cassidy's home with her own back-up plan, a carefully concealed wire of her own that allowed David to hear everything, for it does not matter now.

 

What matters is that even as Cassidy has been brought down, her daughter is still suffering at his hands.

 

"Who is this Killian that Emma's dating?" she asks Leroy as they ride to hospital. Leroy shifts in the seat across from her and she can tell that he’s a bit anxious, a bit uneasy with this question, but he sighs.

 

"He was an officer in your majesty's military until his brother, Captain Liam Jones, died in the Enchanted Forest Massacre," Leroy tells her and suddenly she can place exactly where she met him - at a memorial service shortly afterwards (she remembers his blue eyes and the sad look on his face, and how it broke her heart to see him suffer as she mourned the loss of so many good soldiers). "Apparently he was involved with Milah Cassidy, and the anti-Cassidy movement, and fled to the United States shortly after her death. I have a dossier here, your Highness.”

 

He passes an iPad to her that has Killian's information pulled up, but she glances at it without really taking in the words. She places it on the seat next to her before looking out the window. She had heard rumors about the events surrounding Milah Cassidy’s death, and the young boy-toy that she apparently acquired shortly before her untimely demise (Mary-Margaret always thought that Cassidy killed his estranged wife, and she wonders if whatever is on Emma’s recordings proves it). To think that this young man who was involved with that woman – she remembers her as vivacious yet volatile at State events – is the same one whose prone body her daughter was lying over just a mere thirty minutes ago… there must be something special about him.

 

(She supposes, with only a small amount of bitterness, that Eira is a small country after all.)

 

"Your majesty - may I speak plainly?" Leroy asks, and Mary-Margaret looks over to see him playing with the zipper of his jacket – a tell she recognizes easily as whenever Leroy’s keen to speak his mind. When she nods, he continues.

 

"You know I am one of the people who wanted to take Cassidy down?" Leroy asks, and of course she knows. There's little she doesn’t know about the man - they've known each other since she became Queen - and there are few people she trusts like she does Leroy. "I knew about Killian Jones, and what he believed in and what he stood for, and I knew if Emma was safe with anyone, she would be safe with him."

 

"But she wasn't, was she? Nor was she safe with you," she points out sharply. Leroy hangs his head.

 

"Belle fooled all of us," he says, resigned. "I'm sorry that I failed to keep her safe."  

 

Any anger that she might have about the situation fades upon considering how loyal Leroy has always been - after all, Belle did not only fool Leroy, she fooled Mary-Margaret as well (she can still remember the interview process, the way that the girl smiled so guilelessly in her sitting room, smoothing her skirt over her legs, eyes bright and eager and ready to go with the princess, to protect her at all costs). She grimaces, ashamed at the harsh tone she took just a moment before. "I know."

 

The car pulls up at the hospital just then, and she is escorted into the back door, down a hallway and up the stairs instead of the elevator. Her security team has decided that they will be discrete about this visit, since Cassidy is in emergency surgery (she feels only a small amount of pity over the man's critical wound, considering the danger he posed to her daughter and her friends). David is waiting for her in the hallway outside the stairwell, pacing back and forth, but he stops when he sees her.

 

"How is he?" Mary-Margaret asks immediately. "How's Emma?"

 

"Emma is waiting outside the operating room - they're trying to do what they can to save his hand," David tells her, reaching for her and Mary-Margaret steps forward, letting him hug her briefly before she pulls away.

 

"Did you know about him?" David asks softly, and Mary-Margaret shakes her head.

 

"I didn't, but Leroy did," she tells him. She takes a deep breath. "Take me to Emma."

 

David leads her down the hallway to where Emma waits in a small room with several chairs and a table, magazines stacked next to a bright green plant. She can see her daughter through the glass of the door: she is curled in on herself, her knees tucked against her chest, staring off into space, and it breaks her heart.

 

"How long do you think it's been since she slept?" David asks. Mary-Margaret shrugs.

 

"Not since yesterday." She takes a step back from the glass, suddenly unsure. She turns to David. "There's someone in her life that she loves, and we don't even know him. We meet him when he's about to lose a hand."

 

There are tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and a lump in her throat when she swallows. This is her own daughter (this is Eira’s future queen) and not for the first time in her life, Mary-Margaret struggles where her daughter is concerned.

 

It’s hard, being the Queen, having to meet everyone’s expectations while setting an entirely different set for her daughter and heir. She was always busy, always working when Emma was young - remembers carving out time for her from her schedule, but it was never without tension. Emma is so much like her, stubborn and strong, and she will be a good queen when it is her time. But for right now she is young, and she is lost, and Mary-Margaret worries that it is her fault - that protecting her daughter has only hurt her in the end.

 

"He hasn't lost it yet." David's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, pulling her into another hug.  

 

Mary-Margaret rests her head against his shoulder, takes a deep breath. "I don't know what to do," she admits, feeling a shred of her resolve crack. "I thought we are sending her away to give her the best chance we could, and then she finds this boy and falls in love and they come here and he's hurt - "

 

"Mary-Margaret," David says softly. "Life happens. Emma doesn't need to hear your apologies right now. She needs to hear that her mother loves her, and that she cares about her."

 

"You're right." Mary-Margaret sighs. "You’re always right about Emma." She's grateful for David, for the steady support he has always given her throughout the years of their marriage. He has been the rock that she has built her reign on - the other piece of her heart. She leans forward and places a kiss on his cheek with a smile.

 

"I'm right, but I'm not sure I'm ready for Emma having a boyfriend...what happened to the plan to keep her locked up in a tower until she was thirty?" David teases, and Mary-Margaret smacks him lightly.

 

"She'd find a way out," she tells him, and David nods.

 

"Stubborn, just like her mother," he says, and Mary-Margaret takes a deep breath. Her daughter needs her.

 

She pushes through the glass door and heads towards Emma.

…

Emma shifts on her chair, tucking her legs underneath her as she tries to get comfortable.   There is no clock in the room, and she doesn't have her phone, so she has no idea how much time has passed but with every breath she grows more and more anxious (she remembers Killian's face in the ambulance, his eyes closed tight in pain, and her stomach hurts).

 

If something happens to him, she will never forgive herself - it was her foolish idea to come here, knowing the risk, hoping that things weren't as bad as they were. She is so foolish.

 

"Emma?"

 

She looks up to find her mother standing in the doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her. Mary-Margaret approaches, looks at the seat beside her. "Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"

 

Emma smiles wearily and pats the chair. Her mother sits down, and within moments she has her arms around Emma, and it feels so nice to be able to rest her head on her mother's shoulder, to feel her mother's hands in her hair, stroking the hair around the braid that Regina had fixed this morning (oh god, she hasn't showered in so long, she must reek).  

 

“I must say, this color on you was a bit of a shock,” Mary-Margaret admits, and Emma fidgets, remembering Regina dying it, remembering their mad rush away from the airport.

 

“It’s a shock for me too,” she admits, settling closer in to her mother.

 

"What did the doctors say?" her mother asks, hands moving along Emma's brow and behind her ear in the comforting motion that has soothed Emma since she was a child.

 

Emma sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. The doctor had been reluctant to tell her anything, but Emma had pulled rank, explained that Killian had no family and she was the _Princess_ and her mother the _Queen_ would be here any minute to see to his medical care and _finally_ the woman relented.

 

"She said that Killian should be all right - it was a low-velocity injury so it should be easy to fix." She swallows – the terms are foreign, their meaning unclear to her. "He'll probably have to have physical therapy so he can use his hand again." The thought of Killian not having full use of his left hand - of Killian not being able to play guitar again, makes tears come to her eyes and she wipes them away quickly. He's lost so much in his life, and to think that he would lose his music, how they met - it breaks her just a little.

 

"Oh Emma," her mother says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I am so sorry."

 

"I am too." She closes her eyes tight. "If he never met me, he would be safe."

 

"I don't know if that's entirely true," her mother remarks. When Emma looks up sharply, she smiles sheepishly. "Leroy filled me in on the details. It sounds like your boyfriend has led quite the adventurous life."

 

Emma looks down at her pants, which are stained with Killian's blood (his eyes, so blue, his face so pale, his mouth moving and nothing coming out, and she remembers when he kissed her the first time, the noise of the party and the taste of beer on his lips). She shakes her head. "He's not my boyfriend."

 

Her mother chuckles. "Did you really bring him here to meet your parents?"

 

"Who told you that?" Emma asks sharply, then she purses her lips. "Regina."

 

"And Robin - who are at the palace, resting." She looks down at Emma's jeans. "I'll have someone fetch you some clothes, if you plan on staying here for some time."

 

"Until he's out of surgery." Emma sighs, sitting up straight. She's been up for over twenty-four hours, she's exhausted and gross and she wants to shower but she also wants to talk to Killian and...is he really her boyfriend? Are they a couple? They've never defined themselves, and they've only just gotten back to together (if you can call their time apart breaking up) and she's not even sure how she feels about him, if she can qualify anything and if -

 

"How did you meet him?" Mary-Margaret asks, and Emma recognizes it as a distraction, and she's actually quite grateful for it (it's easier to talk about meeting him then what she feels).

 

"At a party," she says, turning to face her mother. "His accent is weak, and I didn't know at first he was from Eira." She shrugs, slightly embarrassed. "I thought he was cute."

 

"He's not your father, but he's not bad looking," her mother tells her with a grin, and Emma rolls her eyes and shakes her head, saying _"Mom!"_ before covering her face with her hands.

 

"I'm being honest," Mary-Margaret admits, and Emma can't help but smile. "Your father is quite handsome."

 

"We are not having this conversation right now." Emma tucks a strand of loose hair from her braid behind her ear. "I just like him."

 

"You more than like him," her mother points out, and Emma can feel a blush creeping up her neck. She does, she really does, and even if she doesn't know if she can call him her boyfriend, or what she feels about him, she does likes him.

 

"I do," she says. "I didn't know how much until recently." She remembers his face when he arrived at Regina's parent's house, the way she felt when she wasn't talking to him, and she knows that she may not have words to describe what they are but...yeah.

 

"I look forward to meeting him." Mary-Margaret smiles at her, as the doctor enters. She sees the Queen first, and stops in the doorway, bowing her head before approaching.

 

Emma stands up, suddenly less tired. "How is he?" she asks nervously, and the doctor smiles.

 

"We were able to save his hand," she says, "but the young man is in pretty bad shape. Broken ribs, bruises and lacerations..." she glances at the Queen, who nods for her to continue, but Emma interrupts.

 

"When can I see him?" Emma asks, and the doctor looks grim.

 

"It'll be some time until he comes around. When we move him into a private room, then we'll send for you." She pauses. "He'll need time. He'll have to learn how to use his hand again."  

 

Emma thinks about the long road ahead, the recovery period spend learning to move fingers and thinks about Killian and music - how he loves his band, how he'll have to stop playing guitar.

 

She nods. She feels her mother's hand on her shoulder, and her mother saying something about sending for a change of clothing, of making sure that Emma can shower. The doctor and her mother talk around her and all she can think of is how very tired she is and happy she is that Killian is alive, and that his hand will be okay, and she is not moving - not leaving - until he wakes again.

 

The nurses take her to a private room with a shower, and bring her some soap and shampoo. She undoes the braid that Regina plaited earlier that day, running her fingers through her hair, glancing up at her reflection in the mirror (it is still so strange to see herself with brown hair). She is so exhausted, but she will not rest until she can see Killian, can see that he's all right with her own eyes.

 

The shower is a godsend, the warm water enveloping her and she takes a moment to just stop and let all of the events of the past day(s) hit her, from Graham's death to Killian's injury to Gold and Belle and -

 

The sobs come, hard and heavy, and she covers them with her hands, terrified that someone will hear her and send for her mother. The water pounds against her back, her stomach clenches, and she thinks about Graham and Killian and the adrenaline falls away with the water, and she slumps against the corner of the shower with a shudder.

 

Her body demands rest, but she cannot give in until she can see Killian again.

 

The nurses have fetched her a pair of scrubs (she refused anything from the palace, doesn't care about her own jeans and sweaters, just wants to be near him, and so she rakes her hair back into a wet ponytail, lets the nurses take her to Killian's private room.

 

He's not awake - he won't be for some time, they explain to her, but she sits beside him, fingers resting against the metal of the hospital bed. His left hand is bandaged, the cuts across his body cleaned and bandaged as best they can be for now. There are bruises forming on his face, and as she studies him, the doctor tells her that he has a broken rib and some severe swelling in his knee.

 

What's happened to Gold since the time he came to the hospital? What will happen with Regina and Robin, and the recordings that they made - did their plan work? The questions run through Emma’s head but she knows that these are not questions she’ll get the answers to immediately, and she will just have to be okay with this.

 

The machine beeps beside him, his pulse strong, and Emma can't help but be grateful at that fact (he's so resilient, and she will always admire his ability to survive despite all odds).

 

She pulls up a chair to his bedside and slips her hand into his right one, around the heart monitor (she tries not to look at the left, tries to focus on his face, how young he looks in his hospital gown). She moves, just slightly, so that she can lay her head against his right arm, and then she closes her eyes, allowing the soft beeps of the machine and his ragged breathing, to lull her to sleep.

 

She sleeps restlessly, in fits and starts until she hears him murmuring in his sleep and her eyes snap open, confused and uncertain and worried.

 

"Killian," she says, squeezing his right hand gently. "It's me. It's Emma."

 

"Emma." He speaks her name like a prayer. "Love," he exhales, and every muscle in her body is on high alert, very aware as he falls back to sleep, snoring lightly in the dim hospital room.

 

She knows it's just a part of his vocabulary, an affectionate way of referring to her that doesn't mean much of anything, but the word sends a shock through her system and she lets go of his hand, leans back in her chair.  

 

Emma doesn't know what they are, if they are boyfriend and girlfriend or something else. She doesn't know if they're meant to be together forever, or if this is just temporary. She doesn't know what he thinks about her or how he feels, but she knows how she feels about him, even if there aren't the right words (or maybe there are, and she's been afraid to say them).

 

Seeing him hurt has put everything in perspective, and she can't stomach seeing him hurt again - and if she has to, she doesn't want to be the cause of it. She doesn't want to break his heart, doesn't want to bring him pain, doesn't want to be anything other than a source of happiness for him. She wants to make him as happy as he makes her, she wants to be there for him, and she doesn't particularly care who knows it.

 

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she does love him.

 

If that's the case, she's going to have to try – to not run when things get difficult, to stay here, with him.

 

"It's me," she says softly, reaching for his hand again. "It's Emma. And I'm not going anywhere."

 

…

 

The first time he wakes, the room is dark and there is a pressure on his right arm that pins him down (he cannot feel his left but he will worry about that later). He turns his head just slightly to find someone ( _Emma_ ) laying across his arm, still and quiet, and he realizes that she is sleeping. He watches her breaths go in and out loudly, her lips slightly parted, following a rhythmic beeping somewhere off in the distance.

 

He studies her, the way that she is folded over herself, seated in a chair but leaning onto him, her fingers resting on his hand. She is beautiful when she sleeps, something he knows but feels guilty about knowing, because it's not his place to know such things about someone like Emma (though he can't remember why). He smiles, content to watch her all night, if it wasn't for the fact that he's thirsty. He usually keeps water by his bedside, he'll just reach for it without disturbing her and -

 

The fingers in his left hand won't move.

 

Killian looks down to find them wrapped tightly in a bandage (is that why he can't move them? is that why he can't feel them?) and as he shifts, trying to get a better idea of what is going on, that is when the pain in his ribs starts. He cries out, the beeping intensifying, and he can feel something - the fingers of Emma's had withdrawing from his own.

 

"Killian?" she calls out but it's far away - there is so much pain coursing through him and he can only glances over at her once before she's calling out his name again ( _KILLIAN!_ ) and now there are others rushing to his bedside, adjusting dials, faces blurred in the haze of all the burning, searing, shooting pain that races through his entire body and -

 

\- There is a moment where it starts to subside, and then, the pain is gone and he is so very tired.

 

The last thing he thinks before he falls back asleep is that there is something wrong with his left hand.

 

He wakes, later - how much later he really doesn't know - and finds himself alone, the rhythmic beeping his only company (he recognizes it now as a heart monitor, clasped onto the middle finger of his right hand). Emma is gone, and he is not sure how long he has been out, only that it feels like forever. He doesn't feel well rested, just drugged, woozy and discombobulated and nervous about what has happened to him (he remembers Gold's house, the torture, the searing pain through his left hand - was he shot?).

 

A nurse enters - a small, quiet woman who smiles at him when he looks at her and adjusts the doses of his medicine. That is the last thing he wants, not when he needs answers, not when he needs to know what happened to him - what is happening to him.

 

"Please," he says, "no more." He sounds petulant, so he adds, "where am I?"

 

"Queen Ava Memorial Hospital," she responds in his native tongue, and he realizes he's still in Eira, in Emma's kingdom. "You've been shot, not to mention beaten pretty badly. You have a few broken ribs, and your hand..." she trails off, before adding, "your hand is where you were shot."

 

Killian lets his head fall back against the pillow, inhaling sharply through his nose, feeling his ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the beating, barely remembers the gunshot - it must have been shock.

 

"Thank you," he tells her, grateful for an answer. The nurse smiles, reaches over with a glass of water and holds it while he takes a sip. His throat is so parched, his body so sore, and he doesn't know hat to think at the moment - doesn't know what to think because it's a lot to take in at the moment and he's not sure what to make of it. He knows about gunshot wounds, knows that there's rehab to follow and that he might not ever regain the use of his hand -

 

"The princess gave strict orders to let her know when you are awake," the nurse says as she fills out his chart. "But your doctor wishes to speak with you first."

 

Killian remembers Emma, her sleeping form beside him, the way that she called out his name (there was fear in her voice, she was scared) and he nods. "I'll speak with the doctor when they're available."

 

The doctor comes in shortly, her expression grave, and she tells him about his injuries: the ribs will heal, the bruises will fade, but his hand is another story. She throws out all the words he expects, about rehabilitation and therapy, about time and patience, and he listens, somewhat. There are words that she is saying but they don't register, or if they do it's just barely, nothing settling into his mind. All he keeps thinking about his hospital costs, and his degree, and his debts, and rent, and Emma and he doesn't even notice when the doctor leaves him alone.

 

He does, however, notice when Emma enters, but that is because she is not alone.

 

She is flanked on either side by bodyguards - members of the house staff, he recognizes, because they are dressed in suits and not military uniform. They wait by the door, backs to Killian, as Emma approaches. She is a vision even in jeans and a long sweater, hair long and shining in shades of brown and (surprisingly) gold in the dim hospital light. She tugs at the sleeves that cover her hands. She looks worried, and that makes him nervous.

 

"Do I really look that bad?" he asks (well, croaks) and Emma grins, shakes her head as she finally reaches his bedside.

 

"You look better than you did yesterday," she tells him. She forgoes the chair, perching on his bed instead, and he shifts over, painful though it is, to accommodate her. She is so close that he can smell her shampoo and it calms him immediately, as does her touch. Emma leans into him, sliding her arm around him, and he rests his head against her shoulder, reveling in the feel of her.

 

"I'm sorry," he says, because he is, because he shouldn't have gone to Jefferson's, shouldn't have put himself in this predicament.

 

"Don't be," she responds. "We have enough evidence to get Cassidy for good now - he'll never hurt anyone again."

 

"What do you mean, evidence?" Killian asks, and Emma shifts against him.

 

"We had a plan," she tells him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before launching into the story. Killian listens in awe as she replays everything, from Belle's arrival at Granny's to Regina's idea to record the entirety of Emma's conversation with Gold.

 

"Everything your mother said," Killian remarks, remembering only some of the Queen’s promises, which he heard as he floated in and out of consciousness, "none of that will happen?"

 

"He forced her to make promises while holding a gun to your head, after beating you badly. And anyway, the promise was for a forced marriage, which is illegal in Eira, so - " Emma says carefully, like she is trying to remember what she was told, but Killian understands (vaguely) what she is saying.

 

"Her promises are legally unenforceable." When Emma looks at him quizzically, he shrugs. "Robin went through a phase where he was really into crime dramas. Courts don’t enforce illegal contracts or ones made at gunpoint." Emma laughs, pressing a kiss against his forehead, snuggling closer to him in the small bed.

 

"Smart man. Anyway, Cassidy also admitted that he was actively plotting treason, that he killed his wife, and that he abducted you. We saw him assault you. Those are all serious charges, and when he gets out of the hospital, he'll be formally charged and imprisoned pending trial."

 

"He's a lawyer with unlimited funds and connections, Emma," Killian says, suddenly very concerned. "Won't be find some way out of this?"

 

He feels rather than sees Emma shake her head. "I don't think he can. He’s ineligible for bail due to admitting active treason. My mother and I can testify about what we saw at the mansion. Belle is willing to testify against him about everything she saw over the years, as is her father. And when Cassidy was taken to the hospital under police escort, all of his cronies pretty much came out of the woodwork and went to the police to confess and seek plea bargains." Emma pauses. "Even Jefferson."

 

Killian swallows sharply, thinking about Jefferson and his ill-advised quest for information. He was foolish to have gone there and put himself in danger, and he knows it. Regardless of Gold's current predicament, regardless of the fact that Emma and her family are safe -

 

"I should never have put you in danger," he says softly, looking down at his bandaged hand. His impetuousness had nearly ruined Emma, and did a number on himself in the process. "I should have known better - "

 

"Shush," Emma says, maneuvering herself so that she's looking at him, her green eyes intent and her mouth a soft smile. "You did what you thought was right. To protect me." She looks down at his hands (one bandaged, one whole, both in his lap) and traces her finger against his knuckles. "You're an honorable man, Killian Jones."

 

Emma's quiet compliment makes his breath catch and he loves her, loves everything about this woman, from the way that she is looking at him now to the way that she forgave him, and every smile and grin and laugh in between. Her fingers find his, threading between them, entwining together and at first he's unsure of what to do. Emma's not one to shy away from affection but here she has been more affectionate than usual, slipping into their intimacy easily despite the fact that she is royalty, that there are guards outside the door -

 

He closes his fingers around her own, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. His hand may be lost (for now), his body may be broken, but he is here, with her and that is all that matters.

 

...

 

The road to recovery is a long one.

 

The first week he spends in his bed, breaths shaky, visitors frequent. Emma, Robin, Regina - even Leroy, Ruby, Granny with scones and tea - all of them come to visit him, all of them wishing him well. There is even an audience with Emma's parents, and while he feels ashamed, trapped in bed, unable to greet them appropriately, the hour he spends in their company with Emma by his side is easier than he would have thought.  

 

("They liked you," she tells him later, when it's the two of them, and she's stealing kisses while her guards back are turned and the curtains around his bed are drawn tight. "I knew they would," she adds, resting her forehead against his own, and he hates that she has to kiss the corner of his mouth because his lip is still swollen.)

 

Bruises fade, broken ribs heal, but his hand is another story.

 

There is swelling, and threat of infection, antibiotics pumped into his system. His hand is cleaned each day, the wound tended carefully, but his hand feels like it is not a part of him, like it is something that belongs to someone else.

 

He misses it, even though it is still there, with a pain that is indescribable.

 

One afternoon, Robin comes alone, pulling up a chair to sit by his bedside.

 

"Where's your better half?" Killian asks, and Robin merely smiles.

 

"With yours," Robin says, putting his feet up on the bed, leaning back in his chair. "Shopping."

 

"I'm sure that Regina is thrilled."

 

"That is an understatement," Robin admits. "So how are you feeling?"

 

It's a good question. Frustrated? Angry? Confined? Killian doesn't have an answer, so he chooses the best one that he can think of.

 

"A bit helpless," he admits, because his mind keeps going back to the cost of all of this, not just in regards to his health, but the time away from class, his rent that is due, his band that has studio time coming up. All of his obligations weigh him down, as does the absolute indecision he feels about not knowing what will happen to him when he leaves the hospital, which will be soon, he knows, once they stop worrying about infections. He doesn’t have an apartment here, doesn’t know what he’ll do about his degree or his –

 

Robin frowns. “What do you mean, helpless?”

 

Killian shrugs, swallows, tries to come up with the words, stumbles over them – “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone – “

 

“You know that’s not true, right?” Robin asks, resting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward. “You know you’re hardly a burden to Emma, or anyone else.”

 

Killian blows out a harsh exhale but before he can say anything else, Robin continues. “Emma’s here every day, right?”

 

Killian nods. She’s been monitoring his bedside with a vigilance that is surprising to him, especially when she is home, with other duties, with other obligations, with family and friends.

 

“She care a lot about you, Killian,” Robin tells him. “A lot.”

 

“She’s never said – “

 

“If you haven’t noticed, your girlfriend isn’t exactly the best at expressing how she feels. She pretty much ran away when you told her the truth, and spent the better part of the week trying to figure out how to talk to you. The fact that she’s here, day after day, Killian…” Robin trails off. “I wasn’t sure about her at first, to be honest – she seemed cute, sure, but I was worried she’d get tired of you, or something, and she’d break your heart. I’m starting to come around.”

 

Killian looks up, catches the faint smile on Robin’s face. “So you’re Team Emma now?”

 

Robin pauses, then nods, just slightly, and it’s more than enough for Killian. Somehow, between the understanding that Emma cares (from what Robin says, from what he’s seen with his own eyes) and the knowledge that she has won over his friends, Killian finds a sense of peace. Maybe he can find some way to survive in this country again after all – especially if he has Emma (and that, he thinks, is not a problem).

 

…

 

Regina's flown by private jet before - her parents have one, as do most of their friends, so it's not like this is new for her. But being flown on the Official Royal Jet (she assumes the name is capitalized) of the Queen of Eira...well, that's something else entirely.

 

She doesn't want to leave but each moment they linger here brings the threat of Cora's arrival. Her mother already knows that she is friends with the Crown Princess of Eira, is already aware that Regina has been staying at the palace (it's a small miracle that she hasn't left Boca to fly here with some bullshit story of wanting to comfort her daughter who has just been through a terrible calamity).

 

Regina can remember the phone call that the Queen asked her to make once they were settled in the palace. She smiled kindly at Regina, and said softly, "If my daughter were caught up in international intrigue, I would like to know," and then left the room, her handlers trailing behind her. Alone for the first time in what felt like days, Regina stared at the gilded, fancy phone on the desk in this gilded, fancy bedroom (Cora would die if she saw the amount of gold filigree used so casually in this place) and thought about actually talking to her mother.

 

She took a shower, then a nap, instead.

 

It was dark in Eira when she finally called Cora, and she listened to her mother's gasps and exaggerated cries over the situation that Regina found herself in...and yet, by the time that Regina mentioned she was now staying in the royal palace, that's when Cora finally volunteered to come help her.

 

"They're dealing with treason," she reminds her mother, "and we'll have to stay as key witnesses, I'm sure." She bites her tongue when she says _we_ because she's opened the door for a line of questioning that -

 

"Who's 'we', darling?" Cora asks, and Regina takes a deep breath. She can’t believe she let that slip, but maybe she doesn’t care to keep him secret anymore.

 

"His name is Robin. We're dating. He's not from wealth, or anything like that so don't bother asking his last name. All you need to know is that he makes me happy."

 

As if on cue, Robin is in the doorway of the ornate bedroom she's occupying, knuckles pressed against the door, eyebrows up as he stares at her. "The Queen has asked that you be discreet, and keep this to yourselves,” she lies, knowing just what her mother needs to hear to keep her quiet. “I'll call again when I can." She pauses for a moment, then adds, "Goodnight," before hanging up the phone without waiting for her mother's reply.

 

"Was that you finally telling your mother about me?" Robin asks, taking a step forward, then another, and Regina crosses her arms over her chest.

 

"Accidentally," she admits.

 

"But you still told her," Robin presses, and then he's standing right in front of her, smelling like expensive soap, strands of damp hair curling on his forehead (he must have passed out immediately when he reached his room, then showered later and she doesn't mind much when he pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss on her nose).

 

"Regina, Regina, Regina," he says, "it does things to me when I hear that I make you happy."

 

"Really now," she responds, but her voice doesn't drip as much sarcasm as it could, and for that she blames him. She blames every second of every day that she's not bitter and angry at his presence in her life, but it's not a bad thing, she realizes, as she feels his hands stroking between her shoulder blades, the way that she sinks into him with each brush of his fingers.

 

"Really," he says, and she smiles against his shoulder, her fingers griping the plain cotton tee he wears.

 

Cora doesn't come, but give her time, and even though they only say two weeks, it's two weeks where Regina worries that any moment her mother will appear at the palace gate. It's a busy two weeks - multiple meetings with prosecutors and police who want to hear her side of the story, trips to visit Killian in the hospital, a shopping spree or two, courtesy of Emma and Daddy's Amex.

 

When the two weeks are over, and the jet is ready to take them back home, where Cora is...Regina's not sure she's ready to be grilled about Robin and Eira and Emma and everything else. But she goes all the same, because this is senior year and there are internship application deadlines approaching and work to catch up on. There's the radio station, but she'll need to find someone to cover Killian's shift, because he isn't coming home (there's Killian's room to pack up, too, and Emma's, and even through Ruby says she'll take care of the princess, the thought of trying to put all of Killian's possessions in boxes to send back to Eira makes her uneasy).

 

So she goes, but she doesn't want to, not really.

 

Their flight is early in the morning, and so they arrive at the tarmac when the first rays of light are starting to peek over the horizon. It makes Regina remember the first flight, two weeks ago, the way that Graham fell when Belle shot him (there was a memorial service for him, and she may have teared up during it, Robin's hand in hers, gripping her tightly). She knows Belle is in custody, that she's being offered a deal for her help in bringing Cassidy down, but that will never bring Graham back.

 

As they leave the car, they all seem to realize what time it is - Robin takes a sharp breath, Emma stops short, Killian wipes his eyes with his good hand (the other is in a sling, pressed against him). He still can't use his left hand - at least, not yet, and Regina knows it frustrates him to be unable to do anything, to have to stay for therapy - but the way that Emma slips her arm through his, the gentle touches that she gives him now that they're here, together, Regina thinks he probably doesn't mind those.

 

Emma's surprise, though - Regina isn't really sure what he'll think about that. She spent all of yesterday helping Emma with the finishing touches, hanging clothes in closets and placing things in drawers, and she's made the princess promise that she'll tell her how the big reveal goes, even if they'll be wheels up when it happens.

 

There's a moment when the four of them look at each other, not quite ready to say goodbye, not quite ready to leave, but it's Emma who steps forward and embraces them both, Robin then Regina.

 

"My family is forever in your debt," she tells them, and Robin shakes his head.

 

"We just did what was right," he tries to tell her but she refuses to listen, just smiles at him as she turns to Regina.

 

"Don't be a stranger," she says softly, and Regina can't help but smile, just a little. A few months ago, Emma was the girl ( _the princess_ ) that Killian was dating. Now, Regina thinks, she is actually a friend, and Regina doesn't have many of those.

 

"We won’t," she promises for both of them, and when she glances over at Robin, he and Killian are giving each other an awkward hug (Killian's injured hand is a major obstacle to their goodbye). They exchange some words in a tone too low for Regina to hear and then Killian turns towards her.

 

She hugs him carefully, and before she can say anything snarky, he tells her, "Make sure that whoever gets my spot appreciates mope rock, okay?"

 

Regina laughs, the sound sharp in her ears in the stillness of the early morning, the only other sounds on the tarmac the low hum of the car and the chatter of the ground crew as they ready the plane. "I'll do my best, but I don't think we'll ever be able to replace you."

 

"Of course you won't - who else do you know that's both devilishly handsome and understands the true meaning of mope rock.” There's a glint of something in his eyes that Regina has seen rarely - that really didn't appear until he met Emma, and she wonders if this is who Killian was, before his brother died and he got involved with Milah Cassidy. He's always been sarcastic and self-aware, especially when he was with his band, but this is different. This is a new Killian, and she likes it.

 

"Just keep telling yourself that," she says, and behind her the engines of the plane start up, and she realizes that they need to go. She grips her bag just a bit tighter, smiles at Killian and Emma one more time, and turns towards the plane.

 

She and Robin are the only two passengers aboard, so she curls up with him, their bodies pressed tightly together, headphones in her ears as the flight attendant brings them mimosas and pastries. She watches Killian and Emma, who wait until the plane starts to move to get into the limo again. When she closes her eyes and rests her head against Robin's chest, she swears she's not crying.

 

(She totally is, so she just turns up the volume and pretends not to notice how Robin holds her a little more closely.)

 

…

It's her idea, she knows it, so why is she so nervous?

 

Her palms are sweaty as she watches Regina and Robin board the plane, Killian at her side.   Every bit of this has been planned out, from Robin arranging for Killian to say goodbye, to the limo which will take them to the palace. Killian does not know that his meager belongings - what was with him when he was admitted to the hospital - are being sent home even as their friends disappear into the plane.

 

He agreed to come with them to the airport, but doesn’t know that he won’t be returning.

 

This is a surprise, but hopefully a good one, right?

 

She knows how anxious he is about the fact that he’s a stranger in his own land – that he left here with the thought that he could never come back. She’s seen the worry grow on his face the longer that it takes for his hand to heal, to regain movement, and she hopes that if he knows she wants to help him, that things will be better for him.

 

She wants him here. She wants him to stay. She never wants to lose him again.

 

She doesn't know how to say everything that she feels in regard to him, but she knows how to show it, and she hopes against hope that he understands exactly what she's trying to do with this (rather grand) gesture.

 

As the plane starts to taxi down the runway, Emma turns to Killian. "Do you mind if we stop at the palace first?" she asks.

 

He shrugs in response, allowing her to get into the limo before climbing in after her (it is so big now without their friends, and even though they sit next to each other on the seat, the space between them feels vast). She reaches out, places her hand on his left arm - he cradles his hand against his chest - and smiles at him.

 

"I'm going to miss them," she admits, and Killian nods, but doesn't say anything. She wonders if the medicine he takes daily for pain is wearing off but doesn't ask. He's too stubborn and wouldn't want to admit that he was struggling in front of her, she knows that much.

 

The drive to the palace takes them through Sagobok. "You'll have to show me the places you like besides Granny's," Emma remarks, and Killian laughs.

 

"Are you kidding? Granny's is the best thing about this place," he protests and she smacks his arm lightly, smiling all the while.

 

They pull into the palace shortly thereafter, and Emma realizes that this is the first time she's brought him here - the first time that she's brought any boy home, really (Walsh was a boarding school mess, and no boyfriend or dalliance or otherwise has been in her space, seen her room or her house aside from the royal receiving rooms and ballrooms, things that the public sees). She is suddenly nervous, and Killian seems to notice.

 

"What do you need?" he asks, and Emma tries to focus on him, not on her fears.

 

"This way," she tells him, leading him down the hall towards the private wing reserved for guests. The staff bow slightly as she nears them and she smiles (she feels like a smile is plastered on her face all of the time these days, and the only real smile are the ones she reserves for him). When they get to the room she's spent all of yesterday preparing, she takes a deep breath and opens the doors wide.

 

It's not a large space - small and the least ostentatious of her parents’ guest suites. There is a small sitting area that leads into a small bedroom with a private bath. The colors are muted grays and greens and blues ("was this a mid-century renovation? This room doesn't look like a Rococo master threw up in it," Regina had remarked when Emma brought her in for the first time) and comfortable couches.

 

"What do you think?" she asks, turning to face him, butterflies in her stomach. Killian is frowning, brow creased, eyes taking in the space.

 

"Is this your room? I wish you had mentioned something about wanting quality time, love, and I would have showered," he says, eyebrow arching upwards, and she can’t help but smile. She takes a step towards him, reaches for his hand, and pulls him towards her.

 

"Killian, I want you to stay here," she says. "I want you to stay with me, until you're better. I don't want you to worry about anything, not while I can give you this."

 

There is a flurry of emotions that cross his face after she speaks and she can only place some of them – frustration, anger, worry. "Emma - " he says. He takes a deep breath. "I don't need your charity."

 

She can see his hackles raise, and suddenly all the things he said about consorting with anarchists and not being a fit companion for a princess come back to her, slamming into her with their impact, and she needs him to understand this is because she wants him here – because she loves him, even if she struggles with the words.

 

"This isn't charity," she says. "I just want you to stay, with me." She swallows. "If you want to think of it as a 'thank you' for saving my crown, then think of it as that. Think of it as me trying to say ‘thanks’. For everything."

 

She squeezes his hand again, feeling desperate to get him to understand how she feels. Her words feel jumbled and she starts to panic - how is he going to know how much he means to her if he refuses this, refuses this gesture, when the gesture is the best she can do when the words won't leave her lips - but something happens. There is a shift in Killian's features, and instead of being defensive, he purses his lips, then nods. His eyes soften when he looks at her, and it's like he understands her, without words, like the words aren't even needed, not right now.

 

“Thank you,” he tells her, pulling her towards him, letting go of her hand so he can brush his fingers against her cheek, along the dent of her chin.

 

Emma doesn’t say anything else; she closes the distance between them, brings her lips to his.   There are no other words that she needs to say right now, and no other words that she thinks he needs to hear because after all, in the end, they understand each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. interlude: table for four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, if you will, to fill in the gaps before the final chapter. Emma struggles to make up for the fact that she missed an American Thanksgiving, so they have one at the palace. Takes place about a month and a half after chapter thirteen. Completely un-beta'd, so mistakes are my own.

 

**table for four**

 

Emma glances at Killian across the table, eyes flitting from his barely-touched meal to the glass of wine that is almost half-empty. She frowns.

This was supposed to be going better.

Killian has been in the palace for several weeks and has had plenty of opportunities to interact with her parents in casual settings so its not like they haven’t eaten together before. When they’re all home, they’ve had meals in the familiar quarters watching movies, and one time Killian and Emma even picked up Thai take-away as a surprise. Both her parents have been exceptionally welcoming to the surprise boyfriend she brought home from the United States (and given the circumstances, that’s really more than she could have expected).  

So, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

_“We’ll hold our own Thanksgiving dinner, since we missed it,” she announces one day. She’s been thinking about this for a long time, and now that Killian is feeling better – now that feeling seems to be returning to his fingers – maybe they can recapture something from back at college (she knows it will not be the same, not without Robin and Regina, but she realizes that she wants it, badly, because it’s something that she lost in Cassidy’s plot – in addition to her entire college experience – and this feels like it can restore the balance._

_Maybe.)_

_“It will just be dinner”, she tells him. “You’ve had dinner with them before.”_

_Killian nods, looking down at his hands (his left hand still bears the slowly healing gunshot wound from Gold).   “It’s one thing to eat pizza and watch Netflix with your mother, Emma,” he says softly, and she can see that he is nervous by the way that he moves his jaw, the way that he scratches behind his ear with his right hand. “It’s another to dine with the queen, and on a holiday no less.” He frowns. “This isn’t even our holiday.”_

_“But you’ve already dined with the queen.” Emma knocks her shoulder into his lightly. “It will be fun – we’ll be bringing a bit of America to Eira.”_

_“And it has to be done in a formal dining room?” Killian remarks, and Emma rolls her eyes. As much as she agrees with him, she also knows that this is a reality of her life – that there will be formal dining rooms and wine pairings and proper use of salad forks. And if he wants to be here, with her for it –_

_Her heart jumps for a second, and she turns her head, rests it against his shoulder.   “Apparently – that’s what Regina says,” is all that she can say, waiting for him to respond – to tell her no, that this is ridiculous -_

_She feels the sigh go through his entire body. “All right,” he agrees, and with that, a weight is lifted. With a smile Emma slides into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She shifts her hips against his, and the look of trepidation on his face changes to something darker and full of promise._

_“I promise it will be worth it,” she says, pulling him closer, feeling his hands on the small of her back, and Killian arches an eyebrow, right hand traveling up to her bra strap –_

A server brushes by her and she starts from the memory, tucking her hair behind her ears and trying hard not to blush (the memory of how she thanked him is quite vivid, and _so_ not appropriate when eating with her parents).

She has been texting and Skyping with Regina for weeks, planning this event and, if she’s being totally honest, just talking to her friend. There aren’t many people who understand what they’ve been through but Regina does, and it’s a small comfort every time she sees Regina’s face (and Emma never thought she would say that about the other girl _ever_ ).   Regina gives her recipes and sends her pictures of her own family’s Thanksgiving dinner, and Emma does her best to recreate it in Eira.

Killian has had Thanksgiving dinner before. This should be easy. It’s just that this is, well, different - as different as it can be when you’re seated in one of the royal dining rooms having dinner with the royal family, complete with their best china and crystal, fine champagne and French wine, and staff stationed around the table to refill glasses, offer more potatoes, and ensure that every need is met.

(This part was her father’s idea when she suggested Thanksgiving dinner and explained it was a holiday, for all holidays call for champagne and the royal silver, or so it is for their family.)

Across the table, Killian is listening intently as her mother speaks, spoon hanging in the air above his soup, which is growing colder by the minute.

She turns her attention from her boyfriend to her parents. Her mother is beautiful, dressed in a simple yet exquisitely tailored black dress with gorgeous diamonds dangling from her ears.   Every inch the queen, Mary-Margaret engages Killian in polite conversation, while her father sits on Emma’s other side and watches, a slightly amused smile on his face as he cuts his meat. Her father has been in a good mood all night, peppering Killian with questions in between her mother’s stories. Something feels off, like something is going on, and she’s not entirely sure she’s going to like it when she figures it out - this was supposed to be her celebration, not a way to make her boyfriend uncomfortable.

She reaches for her spoon and slurps her soup, catching her father’s attention. She frowns, and he raises his eyebrows, and at that point Emma starts to worry.

…

 

“And that is how we managed to solidify trade relations with the Belgians,” Mary-Margaret says, reaching forward for her glass and taking a sip of her wine.

Killian smiles at her (he does have a rather nice smile – when he finally steps out in public with Emma for the first time, she knows they will make such a fine pair). “I never would have realized the role that a bushel of apples could play in trade negotiations.”

Mary-Margaret smiles in return. “There’s always some solution to be found if you remain strong in your beliefs and hope for the best.”

She can practically hear Emma roll her eyes when she talks about hope but she ignores her darling daughter’s youthful skepticism, for despite what Emma thinks now, when she is queen she will realize how powerful hope truly is. 

Thinking about Emma being queen makes Mary-Margaret remember Rumpel Cassidy, and that crisis, and she clenches her left hand in her lap. Her daughter is safe, her daughter’s boyfriend is safe, and Cassidy is under protective custody at a rehabilitation center awaiting trial and recovering from his wounds. Every morning, she wakes up thinking about how close she could have come to losing everything, including her daughter, and every night she says a silent prayer that she never did.  

David catches her eyes across the table, and gives her a reassuring smile, as if he knew what she was thinking (of course he did – that’s how they work). She smiles back, and takes another sip of wine.

As far as a Thanksgiving dinner goes, it’s not going poorly. Sure, they don’t have some of the food that they do in America – no turkey, for that matter – but she thinks the kitchen has created a suitable meal based on the exhaustive notes and recipes that Emma provided them.

The servers are clearing away the soup (corn chowder) before the main course (roast pheasant), and she catches a look between Emma and David that makes her pause for a moment.

_“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” she asks, after Emma brought up her desire to have a traditional Thanksgiving, and after both of her parents pointed out that she was no longer living in the United States. It seemed to matter to her, though, and after all that her daughter has been through, having a meal together is a small request._

_Mary-Margaret likes planning events in theory but hates the tedium of them in practice, so when David suggests moving it from the family quarters to the Blue Dining Room, she’s unsure. She likes Emma’s new boyfriend, even if it’s taken some adjustment. The man risked his life for her daughter, and even if she’s not thrilled at his dating history, she’s seen how he cares for her, how she cares for him. She’s grown quite fond of Killian, and she knows David has too, and she doesn’t see why they need to subject him to the painfully ornate chairs of the royal dining room._

_“I don’t see the need for extravagance,” she tells him as she slips into bed, but he sighs dramatically and pulls her closer to him. “There’s no reason it can’t be simple.”_

_“We could keep it simple,” he says, “but we need to see if Emma’s beau can handle this. We need to turn up the heat just a bit before we completely give our blessing.”_

_Mary-Margaret knows he’s being serious – that he’s itching to see Killian squirm, and she frowns. “I don’t think it’s necessary. Did my father do the same to you?”_

_David merely raises an eyebrow before tucking her head under his chin. “Compared to what your father did, this will be a walk in the park.”_

And so they’re here, formal dinner, formal dining room, formal wear. David cuts quite the picture in his new suit and Emma wears a dress of teal silk with a sheer overlay at the shoulders, both of which they had already worn in the formal pictures taken to commemorate this holiday season on their official royal holiday card. Killian, too, looks rather dashing in the dark suit that Emma helped him choose, and Mary-Margaret can’t help but smile at him again as the main course is placed in front of them.

Yes, he’s a little rough around the edges, but with a bit of polish, Mary-Margaret thinks she can make a prince consort out of him yet (after all, she did it once before).

…

 

Sometimes, Killian thinks Milah coming into his life was the worst thing that could have ever happened to him, like when he was fleeing Eira, the image of her lifeless body flashing before his eyes as he took the first train to Bruxelles (and from Bruxelles to London, then to the United States, smack dab in the middle of the large continent, where Gold might never look for him).

There are other times when he is grateful for Milah. She taught him so many things, and most importantly, she taught him what a salad fork looked like. So he’s not _that_ intimidated when he first sits down to eat with Emma and her parents – after all, he’s done this before, when Milah used to take him to fancy restaurants and order expensive bottles of burgundy and demand shaved truffles on nearly every dish, all on Gold’s dime, of course.

It’s the actual using of the utensils, and the maintaining of polite conversation, that’s failing him and quickly turning this dinner into a blood disaster. 

Killian’s left hand still isn’t quite what it once was nor will it be anytime soon, or so his physical therapists say as they make him manipulate marbles and rice and other thing with his fingers. Ever since Emma suggested this, one thing he has added to that routine has been practicing using a knife and fork, practicing holding and cutting and feeding himself, and while he’s slow, he can manage to do it without dumping the contents of his meal all over the beautiful silk tablecloth.   But it’s a struggle, and probably will be for some time. 

He looks out, past the candelabra and floral arrangements in autumnal shades (for some reason Emma swears that Thanksgiving has a color scheme, and he’d be willing to bet Regina has something to do with this), and sees Emma responding to something her mother has said, lips curving upwards in a smile, and Killian swears he falls in love with her all over again.

She has been amazing during this recovery – so helpful, and so caring, and there are days when he thinks (no, he knows) that he doesn’t deserve someone like her, especially after all that he’s done. So he does everything that she requests, from extensive hours of physical therapy to moving into the palace, and he does it because she asks it of him, and he would never deny her anything.

And so he sits, in a room that’s a touch too warm for a wool suit, and eats pheasant and new potatoes, _haricots verts sautés dans les herbes_ , and cornbread (oh Emma), washed down with champagne and the promise of apple pie for dessert. And so he answers questions from her father that range from asinine to serious, about his life in the United States to his military career, from his family to his friends, and everything in between, and the number of times Killian has to smile calmly and bite his tongue grows.

He loves Emma, but he’s a bit over the third degree that her father is giving him. He’d love to say something to shut the man up once and for all (but he won’t, because he loves Emma, and she loves her father, and he is not about to insult the Prince Consort under his own roof, where Killian has been staying rent-free for the past month).

His eyes meet hers across the beautifully decorated table and he raises an eyebrow. Emma responds with a smirk and a shake of her head, because she knows. Because there’s something between them that transcends words that he’s never felt before, and doesn’t think he’ll ever feel again ( _soulmates_ , she tells him sometimes when they are in his room, her head on his chest and the fingers of his left hand brushing her hair, grateful for the sense of touch and he’s never believed in that sort of thing but with her – with Emma – he does).

And if being with her means being here, confronting the ghosts of his past every time he hears someone speaking their native tongue or sees a military uniform, every time he takes a walk in Sagobok and remembers growing up here what feels like forever ago – he’ll do it. For her – for Emma – well, he’d go to the end of the world.

…

This evening is going even better than David hoped when Emma first suggested an American-style Thanksgiving dinner a week ago and the opportunity that David had been looking for finally presented itself.

He catches Killian and Emma exchanging a look across the table, which means it’s time for him to launch into another round of questioning about Killian’s short military career. 

“So, Killian,” he starts, and immediately Killian sits up straighter in his chair, turns his full attention to David. Across from him, he can see Mary-Margaret frown but he ignores it, instead asking about range training, the maneuvers that he must have done when he first joined, the pranks (Mary-Margaret’s brow furrows and her frown deepens at this) and so, once he sees Killian reach for his water glass, he switches things up.

“Killian,” he says, “I think it’s time we had a talk about your intentions towards my daughter.”

(He does enjoy watching the young man choke on his water more than he expected.)

When Mary-Margaret brought him home to meet her father – a young army officer from a foreign military, not any of the eligible bachelors of Eira – the king put him through the most uncomfortable two hours of his life.  

It’s only fair that David pays it forward.

“David…” Mary-Margaret starts just as Emma begins to speak as well, but Killian shakes his head and smiles at Emma before placing his water glass back on the tabletop.

“To be completely honest, your highness, my intentions towards your daughter depend as much on her as they do on me.” Killian raises an eyebrow, and there’s something in the young man’s look that’s a bit more challenging than David would have expected but in that moment he gains a bit of respect for him. It’s not easy to become the consort of a crown princess – to give up a life you know for one of intense public scrutiny in addition to public service.

David thinks that maybe Killian will be suited for it after all, if Emma chooses.

It’s only later, after dessert (Granny makes them apple pie and it’s served warm with ice cream, and it is as delicious as everything else she’s made) that David admits, “All things considered, that didn’t turn out too bad.”

Mary-Margaret folds her napkin and places it on the table, shaking her head. The smirk on her face is all that tells him how amused she is by his proclamation. “After what you put Killian through, I’m surprised that Emma still is speaking to either of us. 

“Hey now,” David says, getting up from his place and coming to stand behind his wife’s chair, helping her up.   “Compared to your father, I was a pushover.”

“Compared to my father, Granny is a pushover.”   Mary-Margaret takes his hand as they leave the dining room, but David has an idea.

“I’m going to go speak with Killian,” he tells her.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks, a look of concern on her face, but David is buoyed onwards by the fact that Killian did even better than he expected when under pressure.

Killian’s quarters are in the guest wing of the palace – not far from the dining rooms, and so David arrives easily, knocking on the door and announcing himself eagerly. “Killian! It’s Emma’s father, David. I wanted to say how pleased I am that Emma has found someone like you.”

The door swings open and Killian stands there, shirt half-buttoned and untucked, hair a mess, and lipstick definitely on his neck (lipstick the same shade that Emma had worn that evening - )

“Thank you, your highness,” Killian says, and damn if there’s not a cheeky grin on his face (and David wants to be angry – he wants to be so angry, because this is his daughter that’s presumably in there with Killian, and he doesn’t want to know and yet he remembers, all too well, his own stays at this palace, and Mary-Margaret sneaking into his room, and - )

He coughs, says “Goodnight, then,” and hurries away, trying to erase the sight from his memory.

(When he arrives back in their quarters, Mary-Margarets says nothing, just gives him a look that speaks volumes, and pours him some aquavit, pressing a kiss against his forehead and running her fingers through his hair.

“Still consider tonight a success?” she asks, and he takes a sip of the drink and sighs.)


	15. wait for it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Regina-POV, Regina and OQ-focused chapter that takes place directly after the events of chapter 13. Title inspired by ‘Wait for it’ from the Hamilton soundtrack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter (!!!!!). Thanks @artielu for being my cheerleader throughout this entire story as well as a phenomenal beta. Much of this story wouldn’t exist without you.

Regina’s mother has always seemed larger than life – an imposing figure that fills up too much space, sucking out all the air, and now, seated in a chair in the center of Regina’s living room, that feeling has never been more true.   

She’s never been here before; it was Regina’s father who helped her find an apartment, who acted as a guarantor when she signed the lease, who hired the moving company to bring all of Cora’s discarded furniture to Regina’s new place.  It’s not the kind of apartment that Cora would choose for her daughter (no, she’d find something different, maybe in one of those new high rises near campus, something with skylights and not this small with low ceilings and faded tile) and she scans the room with pursed lips, Regina’s not sure who she’s more disappointed in, her father or her.

Oh, wait, it’s definitely not Regina – after all, she’s besties with a princess now.

She wasn’t surprised to find her parents waiting for her at the airport.  That was to be expected, with the way that Cora practically called the royal house of Eira every day prior to Regina’s return across the seas.  Instead of being the disappointment, Regina has suddenly replaced Zelena as the favored one (she bet her sister turned green with envy when she found out Regina had been hob-knobbing with royalty down at Moo U all along) and while there’s a part of her that’s rejoicing at the shine that Emma’s acquaintance has given her for the foreseeable future, that’s about it. 

The rest of her feels like a fucking mess.

She misses Robin.    

There had barely been any time to say goodbye before the storm that is was and forever will be Cora Mills had whisked her daughter into their rental car (Mercedes, natch) – just one last look over her shoulder to see Robin on the tarmac, bag slung over his shoulder, looking as lost as Regina felt.

She presses her hands to her forehead, the silence stretching between her and her mother becoming unbearable, but it’s better than the mindless stream of chatter that her father started in the car, asking her about Eira and her flight home until she snapped, apologizing afterwards but not really meaning it.

She wonders what Killian and Emma are doing right now.  

“You should go clean yourself up so we can get dinner,” Cora says, and it occurs to Regina that Emma and Killian are probably asleep.  She glances towards the large sliding glass door that looks out into the parking lot.  It’s dark already, but it’s almost Thanksgiving and so she really shouldn’t be surprised but she is, because she’s home and not in Eira and her mother is in her living room and Robin is not here and Graham is still dead and Belle is a traitor and –

“Shower.  Right.”

The water pressure in her shower never bothered her before but it’s not what she’s become used to – not the same as the water in Eira, in the palace.  Her shampoo smells the same, and she totally forgot that she was out of shaving cream when she left (she’ll have to buy more) but everything feels unsteady, everything feels wrong.

She misses Robin.   

The water goes cold before she gets out, and Regina takes the time to blow-dry her hair, applying eyeliner and mascara (it’s the oldest trick in her book, using eye makeup to prevent herself from showing emotion in front of her mother) and the darkest lipstick she can find in her makeup bag.  She grabs clothes from her closet – black jeans and a black sweater that hangs off her right shoulder in a way her mother probably thinks is gauche – and puts on her Docs, tying the laces extra-tight as if it will somehow stop unsteadiness in her legs, somehow ground her to this place.

She misses Robin, and Killian, and Emma, and Graham is still dead and Belle is a traitor and she is home and not in Eira and everything feels like more than she can handle but she takes a deep breath and puts on a practiced face.  

She can do this.   

She is Regina Mills, after all, and Regina Mills is nothing if not a bad-ass bitch.

…

Her parents stay for five days.

There are meetings with her department advisor and college administrators – meetings that don’t need to happen but do, because Cora Mills seems to want everyone to know how amazing her daughter is after helping thwart a coup in a small land-locked European country that most people know very little about and surely that deserves an extension on that paper/that exam/that assignment, doesn’t it?  

As Regina sits in the chair beside her, arms cross over her chest, trying to look pleasant but missing Robin (she has not seen him since her parents arrived, only been texting with him and oh he’s alone in his apartment with all of Killian’s stuff but no Killian…) she can’t help but notice her mother at work.  It’s like dark magic, the way that Cora gets every single fucking person to agree with her, to extend deadlines and to make amends for their reckless (they were so reckless, so very very reckless and Regina sees it now) flight to Eira.

It occurs to Regina, as the meeting with the Dean draws to a close, that there is no one advocating for Robin – no mother with deep pockets and a particular desire to see her child succeed - and so Regina interrupts and adds, “And we need to do something about Robin.”

Cora Mills frowns, and Dean Hopper looks at Regina for the first time during the meeting.  “Robin?”

“Robin Locksley – Killian’s roommate,” Regina says, angry flames shooting up the side of her face at the thought that there is no one to look after Robin save her and she will take care of him, she will take care of this even if it means giving away his name in front of her mother.  “But he’s in the College of Education – “ 

“I know Dean Nova well,” Dean Hopper responds, “and I’m sure accommodations can be made since these are quite the extenuating circumstances.”

Regina smiles and nods firmly, relieved that her concern about Robin is being noted (she refuses to look at her mother the rest of the meeting).

Her mother takes her out for lunch near campus, and Regina orders a vodka tonic, ignoring the pointed stare of her mother who changes her order to just club soda with a twist of lime.  She sits up straighter in her chair at that point, taking out her phone to type a quick message to Robin when Cora says, “Put that away, dear, it’s rude to text at the table.”

“Those meetings certainly went well,” Regina admits, sliding her phone into back into her bag (she hasn’t heard from Emma or Killian in days, not since she responded to Emma’s text about whether or not they made it home, and she can’t help it – she misses the little princess in a way she never thought she could). 

“They certainly did,” Cora responds with a smile as their salads arrive.  There is a pregnant pause as Regina picks at her arugula, eats only the apples, and finally Cora continues. 

“Well, now that that’s handled, you need to focus on graduation,” her mother starts, “not boyfriends – “

Having waited on edge for the shoe to drop for days, her frustration with her mother finally deciding to boil over, Regina just decides to roll with it for a change instead of keeping it all inside, sliding out only through rebellious clothing choices and the occasional verbal sparring match.

“No, you mean that I shouldn’t focus on boyfriends that don’t have a recognizable family name,” Regina snaps back.  She pauses, collects herself, places her fork on the table beside her salad plate.  “Let’s get one thing clear, Mother.  I appreciate what you did here for me but honestly? I am an adult, and I make my own choices. I would have dealt with the consequences of my actions instead of having them excused away by you - even if that meant having to graduate a semester late.”

Now that she says it out loud instead of keeping it bottled inside her head, Regina realizes that she’s right. She would have taken the incompletes for the time being, which is a far cry from who she used to be, always looking for the easy way out and falling back on her parents time and time again.

(Who would have thought it would take a failed royal coup to get Regina Mills to admit that?)

“Don’t be silly, Regina – you need to graduate on time.  And after graduation we’ll find you a nice apartment in the city.  There are any number of jobs that -  – “ Cora starts to say but Regina cuts in with, “I am not moving back there.”

“Why not?”  Cora says with a frown, and Regina merely shrugs.

“I don’t want to.  There’s a whole wide world for me to explore, and I don’t see the need to follow the life that you’ve decided I should live.”  Regina pauses, thoughts of Graham being pulled to the forefront of her mind.  “Life is too short to follow a plan made when you were eighteen.”

“Regina, that is ridiculous – “

“Is it, Mother?” Regina leans forward, elbows on the table.  “The only plan I’ve had since Daniel’s death was to spite you at every turn – to show you that you weren’t the boss of me, and that I could make my own decisions and you know what?  I have.  I’ve done pretty well for myself – I’ve got a wonderful boyfriend and friends that I miss and I’m graduating with honors.  I think I’ve done just fine without listening to you and your plans.”  

There is fire in her veins and it feels good – so good to say all of this to her mother, so good to get everything out in the open, to be honest for the first time in forever instead of just rolling her eyes and tuning Cora out.

“Regina, I wish you would believe that I only want what’s best for you,” Cora insists, and Regina nods. There is a disconnect between what her mother thinks is best for her and what really is, and she knows her mother can’t see that - can’t see that they’re not on the same page, and they haven’t been for a very long time.

“I know you do, but you don’t know me and I’m not sure you ever did, or ever cared to.  I’m not the person you think I am, or the person you want me to be, and I’m not going to let you make me that person.”  Regina folds her napkin and places it on the table.  “I’ll see you later, Mother.”

“Regina, sit back down - you’re making a scene,” Cora says from between gritted teeth but Regina just shakes her head.  

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” she tells Cora. “Have a safe flight back to Boca.”

Leaving the restaurant, Regina feels a surge of panic – was that the right move?  Should she have acted so recklessly? – but it disappears as her feet carry her onwards, towards Robin’s apartment nearby.  It’s been too long, and she needs to see him – needs to have his arms around her, needs him to ground her before she floats away.   

He doesn’t answer the door immediately, and it takes a text from her to make her presence known.  When he does answer, she launches herself at him, arms around his neck, lips against his, kissing him like she’s never kissed him before (they’ve never been separated for this long before, even when they were just friends, and her soul feels lighter when she feels his arms around her).

“Regina,” he says, brushing her hair back from her face when their lips part, “that was some hello.”

“I missed you,” she tells him, grabbing his hand and following him into the apartment.  “And I finally told my mother to go fuck herself.”

“Really?”  Robin’s eyebrows shoot upwards towards his hairline.

Regina shrugs.  “Not that bluntly _but_ I pointed out that I’m doing pretty good so far without her interference.”

“Speaking of interference…I just got an email from the Dean of the College of Ed to come meet with her tomorrow,” Robin tells her.  “Any idea why?”

“I may have advocated for your behalf in a meeting with my dean,” Regina admits, kissing him lightly.  “Don’t be angry?”

“Please – I’m honored to have you in my corner.”  He brushes a kiss against the top of her head, and that is when Regina takes a moment to look around and notice the broken-down liquor boxes piled near the door.

“What’s up with that?” she asks, and Robin sighs – a full body sigh that answers the question for her before he does, so she adds, “Do you want any help?” 

“That would be great,” he admits, leading the way down Killian’s soon-to-be-former bedroom, which is half-packed.   

It’s weird to see it like this – Regina spent a lot of time in this apartment the last few weeks, usually with Killian and Emma, and to see his belongings being piled into boxes to be shipped overseas is just hard.  She’s known him from the station, and he’s been Robin’s roommate for almost as long as she can remember and it’s just…weird, to see the drawers of his dresser so open, to see his life spilled out across his stripped-down bed like he’s gone forever (and he’s not, he’s just in Eira with Emma but it feels like more than just an ocean away at the moment).

“I feel like I’m invading his privacy,” Robin says, “even if he asked me to do this, it still feels strange.”  He picks a sock off the floor and tosses it into a box, and Regina sighs, reaching for it and pulling it back out.

“You can’t just throw his shit in a box, Robin.”  She finds its twin on the floor, rolls them into a ball and places them on the bed.  She knows this must be hard on him but can’t even imagine how hard it must actually feel.  She never had a roommate that she could tolerate for long, and she’s never had a close friend other than Robin, who sees something in her that she’s not even quite sure she can see, but with Killian and Emma…it felt like something was coming together, finally, in her life.  It felt like she had a place, had a squad, had something going for her.  

Now she just has Robin, and the memories of a few stressful days that keep her up at night (she can remember the way that Killian screamed when Gold shot his hand, the way that he fell to the floor and the blood and - )

“Shit.”  Robin sits down on the edge of the bed, puts his head in his hands.  He takes a deep breath before looking up at her, and his eyes are wide.  “We saw a man die, Regina.  We saw a murder  – what the hell?”

“I know right?  We’ll be sending therapist bills to Emma for the rest of our lives,” she tells him, but there’s no lie in her voice.  She’s jumpy and lost in a fog most days, the anxiety creeping into her veins and blocking out everything else (how is she supposed to work?  How is she supposed to function?  does any of this even matter?) and it’s pretty bad, but Robin reaches out for her, grabs her hand and squeezes it. 

“I miss them,” she admits.  “I really do.  Even the little princess.”

Robin smiles.  “Even the little princess.”

Regina rolls her eyes but he’s right – Emma was the first girl she’s known who felt like a friend, and she’s sad to lose that, as sad as she is about Robin losing Killian.

She looks around the room, then at the boxes scattered throughout it.  “I guess we better get to work,” she says, and Robin nods, standing.

“Not looking forward to having to find a sub-letter – think I could make Killian post the ad?” Robin asks, turning toward Killian’s desk and starting to slowly pile up papers and odds and ends.  

Regina stops, turns slowly towards her.  Her brain is moving a mile a minute but one thought keeps coming back time and time again, not for the first time.

“Why don’t you move in with me?” she asks, and she feels nervous and off-kilter (this is not what she does, this is not who she is – she’s never scared, she’s always brave, she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks, but she doesn’t want him to say no – wants him to move in with her, wants his clothes in her closet and his body in her bed for more than just a night and - ).

Robin narrows his eyes.  “You sure about this?  You know I snore.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes again.  “Yeah but I need someone to keep me warm at night,” she teases, but there’s a small smile creeping across Robin’s lips that she can’t help but notice.  He places the papers he’s been handling back down on the desk, cups her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“You sure your parents would be okay with that?” he asks, and Regina exhales shakily.

“Daddy’s wrapped around my finger, and Cora is…harder…to gauge, but I’m not worried.  I just want to be near you.”  She rests her forehead against his, feels his breath against her face.  “Life’s too short to – “

Robin interrupts her mid-thought, kissing her with a passion that makes her toes curl, and she doesn’t care.  It doesn’t matter, not when they’re here together (his hands under her sweater, his fingers on her skin) and she can lose herself in him for a while. 

…

 

“Student org meeting is next week,” Sidney tells her from the doorway of the studio and Regina sighs, queueing up another song as she does.  She’s had to hit the ground running when she returned, and she doesn’t mind it but their preliminary budget is due next week and her chief engineer, Merlin, tells her that they need to a new transmitter because the one in the Physics building is malfunctioning during thunderstorms and so she sighs again as and turns the volume back up at Fever Ray comes through the speakers in the station.

“I’ll handle it,” she says, but she’s not really sure how – she’s not operating at peak capacity these days, still bogged down in a PTSD fog (not you this time, anxiety) that Dr. DeVil says will take time to work through, and she fucking hates not being able to get shit done.  

It doesn’t help that the news from Eira about Killian’s hand is not good: he hasn’t regained a full range of motion in all of his fingers, which means that he can’t play the guitar she and Robin shipped off a few weeks back, and the sadness that clings to him like a second skin is apparently wearing Emma down (or so he tells Robin in one of their daily video chats).

Regina slumps down into the rolling chair, letting it roll backwards and hit the edge of the mixing board.  She runs her hands through her hair, feeling a bit frustrated with everything going on in life.  Semester’s ending, assignments are coming  due, and there’s nothing but stress ahead of her.

There’s a knock on the glass window of the DJ booth, and she glances over, ready to verbally flay whatever freshman thought it funny to fuck with the glass of her station – but it’s only Robin, and he’s pulling a face that makes her roll her eyes.

“What is it with the mope rock?” he asks as he saunters in, throwing his bag on top of the turntables (Regina opens her mouth to protest but he silences her with a kiss before heading to the stacks).

“Your show isn’t on Wednesday,” Regina points out.

“So?”

“So why are you here?” she asks, Fever Ray ending and Slowdive starting as Robin returns with a stack of music.

“Because this is bullshit,” he says, glancing at the soundboard to make sure the mic is off.  “I cannot abide all this absolute dreck on the radio.”

Regina raises a perfectly-manicured eyebrow at her boyfriend.  “But my show is supposed to be mopey.  I’m the Evil Fucking Queen – I don’t listen to Taylor Swift.”

Robin smiles as he queues up a song and then, winking, turns towards the mic.  “Hello lovely WOUT listeners, this is DJ Robin Hood and I’m here today to end this grumpy pants music fest with a good ole fashioned dance party.”  He presses a button and Slowdive ends abruptly, and when Regina hears the next song she puts her hands on her hips.

“Seriously? You could hear this on commercial radio,” she tells him but he just shakes his head and hips along with the music.

“Come on Regina - work with me, just this once.”  Robin extends a hand and, with a playful eye-roll, Regina lets him pull her into his arms.  

“When we were young,” he sings, “ohhhhh we did enough…”

There’s something about the moment, the combination of Robin’s smile and the music, that makes Regina feel light again.   

It’s just a start, but it’s enough.

…

 

They have been home for over a month when she finally texts Emma.

Call it poor impulse control, call it loneliness, call it boredom but she can’t help it when her fingers slide across the touch screen, typing out a message for the girl across the sea, and when she finishes and sends it, she turns her phone face down and leaves the room, trying hard not to listen for any sound that the message was received at all.

**Hello Princess -  we sent you guys Christmas presents so keep an eye out for the package, okay?**

She doesn’t get a response until morning, but it was clearly sent overnight.

**YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS.**

And then another immediately after.

**You’re not the only one who did a little holiday shopping.**

Regina doesn’t respond immediately – she doesn’t do texts other than booty calls or sassy short messages to Sidney, so this is new.  Strange, and new, but she’ll try.

Pause, then another text.

  
**Killian helped.**

Regina has to make herself closer her mouth, she’s in such shock but oh she’s got to hear this story (that boy wore the same three band shirts in rotation and this has to be a good story…)

The conversation continues like that for a few messages, when it stops, then picks back up again a few days later.  It progresses quickly until Regina doesn’t even realize how often she’s texting Emma until Robin grabs her phone from her midtext while they’re watching TV in her apartment one night.

“Well this comes as a surprise,” he admits, tossing it back to her after she hits him with a pillow, and Regina asks, “What?”

“You and Emma texting – though honestly, why am I surprised to begin with?” he asks, leaning back into the cushions, stretching his arms along the top of the couch.  “After all, you did bond over dyeing hair in a crappy fast-food bathroom – " 

Regina smacks him with the pillow again but he’s right – there’s something about the experience that has brought them all closer together (she knows that Killian and Robin FaceTime daily) but even as they settle back down to watch TV, it doesn’t fill the hole in her heart at the thought that some of the people she’s closest to in the world are nowhere near here.

Regina has spent too long not caring if people liked her, or if people even care what she does (it made it easier when she disappointed Cora time and time again to just push past it, to pretend it didn’t matter even if no one liked her) that knowing there are people like Emma who care is just…it’s an overwhelming concept, getting texts or FaceTime calls from a freaking princess.  Emma could be friends with anyone, and choosing Regina is pretty heavy.

She reaches for her beer, takes another sip.  Friends, and a boyfriend living with her – these are things she’ll have to get used to, but she doesn’t think it’s going to be that hard in the end.

 


	16. 16

 Killian looks at his left hand, which is clenched into a loose fist.  His ring finger and pinkie curl inwards just slightly, but not enough to close his hand completely.  Between his bent fingers he can see the angry scar that rips across his palm - a daily reminder of both (foolish) recklessness and (foolish) bravery and he tries to clench his fist tighter but he _can’t_.

He will never be able to move his fingers more than he can now.  There is no amount surgery that can repair these wounds, no amount of therapy to help the tendons and muscles and nerves forever damaged by the bullet from Gold’s gun.

_I’m sorry_ , his therapist had said, unable to hide the sadness on her face and Killian had nodded. He thinks that he made small talk, but he can’t remember anything he actually said, or even walking her to the door of his small suite.  Instead, all he remembers is just a ringing in his ears and a throbbing in his temples that keeps building and building as stands by his bedroom door, staring at his hand, feeling lost.

There are sounds in the hallway - the housekeeping staff, coming to straighten up his quarters now that his scheduled physical therapy is over (the Royal House of Eira runs an incredibly tight ship).  According to his schedule, which was drawn up and given to the household manager Nova shortly after he enrolled at university, he should be on his way to his tutorial by now.  But his stomach turns at the thought of sitting in that too-warm room listening to that annoying sod Arthur drone on and on about migration politics for the third week in a row. 

Any other day he might be able to convince Emma to meet him for lunch, but Emma’s in class until the afternoon, and he doesn’t really have have a strong burning desire to find her and share the news with her (he would rather have a talk with her father about _anything_ then tell Emma the truth about his future).

Yet, restlessness is building inside of him which makes staying impossible (the light shining off the gold filigree which decorates every freaking room around here hurts his eyes). 

It’s obvious where he needs to go.

Turning around, he grabs his coat, scarf, and hat from the chair he had dumped it on yesterday and leaves his room.

During his time at the palace, he has found the backdoors and other exits that take him away from the royal family and their security (and _his_ security, not to mention prying eyes of the paparazzi who find that the _scandalous_ new paramour of the Crown Princess helps them sell more magazines than just Emma alone). He doesn’t use these passages often, but there are times when the formality of the palace is too much for him and he misses the keg-er-ator in his old apartment back in the US, the futon with a burn mark from when Robin dropped his pipe, and so many other things that he cannot find in this palace with too many crystal sconces that reflect his broken self from every angle.  Sometimes, the only way to cope is to slip out and pretend he is his own man - not Emma’s boyfriend, not a witness in the case against Rumpel Cassidy, not an expatriate who once fled this country never expecting to return.

Sometimes, the only way to ground himself again is to take a long walk along the river, and pretend that he is still the person he was when Liam was alive and they were both young boys (before Milah and Emma, when his father wasn’t around and his mother was still alive).  The river is one of his happier memories, so it’s where he goes when he needs to be alone.

Today’s path to freedom is through the royal gardens.  It is March in Eira, and there is snow on the Zwann Mountains in the distance.  In front of him, royal gardeners begin to turn over flower beds and trim the topiaries.  There will be a garden party in April, to celebrate the Queen’s birthday.  Dressed in scarves and fleece vests, the gardeners cast glances at him as he hurries by to the back gate, where service lorries enter and exit.  He slips out easily after exchanging a friendly hello to the guard (William seems in no hurry to report him, and he makes a mental note to stop and talk about football with him on his return).

Once he clears the palace, he can feel the call of the river in his bones.  He pulls his hat farther down on his head as he crosses the street behind the palace, wraps his scarf around his face, and follows the river. Maybe the water will help everything make sense (it’s a thought, and a good one, but probably hopeless).

Today’s news does not come as a surprise - or, at least, it shouldn’t, because he’s had a sinking feeling that things were not progressing where his hand was concerned.  Limited mobility, yes, and he can hold a fork in it while he cuts with a knife in his other hand, but his fingers can’t curl inwards and barely want to move outwards, and he can barely pick out a tune on his guitar, let alone hold a gun. The struggle to tie his shoes was also far too real.

He is here, but he is not whole, and he will not be again (he will never have more than he has now, and that makes him feel so much lesser as a result).  With the acknowledgment of his lack of wholeness comes a feeling that this is the end - that he does not deserve Emma, or a room in the palace.  After all, his physical therapy is completed and he was brought to the palace under the auspices of needing a place to recover that was not the hospital.  Emma cannot keep him there forever (and would she want to, this cracked and broken and broke man with barely any money to his name - not that she needs his money at all - an incomplete degree, and no job?).

The wind off the river whips against his body as he walks but he feels nothing save the force of it - he is already chilled to the bone.

 

 …

 

Emma pulls her earbuds out as the town car turns left and the palace looms ahead of her.  When she decided to start university in the spring, one of the concessions she made to her parents (along with Lancel, her security detail) was having a chauffeur take her to and from classes, even if it is within walking distance.  It’s the least that she can do, after everything that’s happened in the past year)

And, she thinks, it’s the kind of accommodation that a Queen would make.  She needs to learn these sorts of things sooner or later and it’s really not that big of a deal.  She’s happy with how her life is - being back in Eira, being with her family, being with Killian - and if her mother wants someone to drive her to and from class, and someone to escort her across campus, then so be it.  

She misses her independence, but she knows now that freedom is not a luxury her title offers. 

The town car slows down as it nears the back entrance to the palace, and Emma turns off her music, slides her phone into her pocket.  She’s got reading for both social theory and world religion, and Killian won’t be back until somewhere around four which means she’ll probably be able to get something done (she can come up with a list of things she wants to do with Killian and ‘study’ is not on it).

One of the staff holds the door open for her, and she enters the palace only to be met by Leroy, who looks behind her then frowns.

“What’s wrong?” Emma asks, and Leroy shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts before muttering, “Nothing” and _oh_ , Emma knows that ‘nothing’ all too well (they have been through too much for her not to know him by now).

“Is it my mother?” she asks, her mind racing (has someone come to finish what Gold started?  She thought all of his accomplices were in jail?  Is it his son - she thought he was wintering in Turks and Caicos…).  She cannot stomach the thought of something happening to her mother, so she reaches out to touch his shoulder, which stops him from turning away from her and he looks alarmed for a moment.

“The Queen?  Absolutely not - why, have you heard something?” he responds with force.

His intensity frightens Emma and she takes a step back, holding up her hands and shaking her head.  “No I just - what’s wrong?”

Leroy seems to calm down at the defensive action: he takes a step back, runs a hand over his bald head as he looks away.  When he glances back at her, he takes a deep breath, looking for all the world like he would rather not have to tell her this, and she realizes immediately that it has to do with Killian, which sends a jolt right through her. 

“It seems your boyfriend has decided to go on a walkabout without security... ** _again,_** ” he tells her grumpily.  “Garden staff saw him slip out about two hours ago and he hasn’t been seen since.” 

Emma sighs.  She knows that Killian sometimes goes off on his own, but he always comes back with wind-blown hair and, when she buries her nose in the crook of his neck, she can smell the lingering scent of the beech trees that line the river, so she knows where he has been (the water calms him, like it does her -  how many hours did she spend in the tallest garrett watching the river flow by the palace?  How many times did she beg her parents to take the royal barge out on the Apel as a child? How many times did she herself walk the path by the river?). 

“He’ll be fine,” she tells Leroy, who shifts nervously in front of her (she feels the same, her heart caught in her throat because _it’s not safe, it’s never safe when the tabloids keep paying more and more for pictures of him_ \- )

“I’m not so sure about this time, Your Highness,” he says, and when Emma frowns, he continues.  “His physical therapist submitted a final report today.  Killian’s hand is as good as it will ever be.”

The news makes Emma’s heart fall from her throat into her stomach, creating waves of sadness with the impact.  He has been working diligently for months to make progress with his hand, and she’s seen the small incremental victories in the face of utter defeat.  She’s also had a sinking suspicion that things will not be the same as before and this confirms it.  The knowledge that Killian will never be able to fully play the guitar again, that he will carry a reminder of Gold every single day of his life, is painful to her.

  
It is undoubtedly worse for him (he must be so upset, and so very lost - she’s seen him in the depths of sadness, she’s seen what feeling rejected does to him, how it makes him pull away from those who love him and retreat into himself and if she can find him then she can fix it she can - )

“I have to find him,” Emma says, turning away from Leroy, single-minded in her purpose.

“Emma.”

When she hears her mother’s voice, she freezes, spinning on the heel of her boot to see her standing in the doorway.  Leroy bows his head as her mother sweeps in.  She hands him the folder in her hands.

“I’ll be in my office,” she tells him, before giving Emma a look which she tells her to follow her and suddenly she is nervous.

Emma has been summoned to her mother’s office before:  when she ran away from home and hid in the garden gazebo for a few hours; when she slapped Arthur Pendragon in front of half the patrons of the Royal Art Society for touching her butt; after losing her virginity to Walsh.  Those were always nerve-wracking moments for Emma, to come under such close scrutiny - to feel like she was letting her mother down despite how graceful her mother was, how thoughtful and caring and _queenly_.

(But she is not sure how wanting to go find Killian - how wanting to help him - is at all similar to any of those other instances.) 

This will not be one of those tedious chats about appropriate royal decorum - Emma is sure of that - but what sort of chat they will have is still undetermined.

Once inside, her mother takes a seat on the uncomfortable ornate sofa, and pats the space next to her.  With a sigh, Emma flops down, displacing several small pillows with her movement.  When she was a child, she used to love playing in her mother’s office - pillows and other frippery for her to build forts with, a massive oaken desk that served as the perfect hiding spot when her father was looking for her.

On the coffee table in front of them is a wedding photo of her parents that she’s seen a thousand times before and which she loves dearly.  It is not the official photo that made it to the cover of the local papers, and which hangs in the portrait gallery down the hall; this one is different - softer, Emma things, and more personal, the two of them looking at each other like no one else exists and nothing else matters.

She’s always wanted that kind of love and, with Killian, she feels as if she is close to having it.

They sit in silence for a moment before Emma speaks. 

“You don’t think I should go,” she says, playing with the cuff of her sweater, waiting for her mother’s response.

“Do you think he wants you to go after him?” her mother asks, her voice gentle.   “Did he message you?  Did he call your mobile?”

Emma closes her mouth slowly, then shakes her head.  No, he did none of those things: in fact, when Killian learned the news that Leroy has shared with her, he did not contact her at all.

Her mother hums softly, but says nothing as she adjust the pillow beside her, and the silence between them grows.

It makes Emma uncomfortable.  She huffs.  “So you’re saying that even if he needs me, I shouldn’t go to him?”

“How do you know that he needs you?” her mother counters, which makes Emma pause before her defense can escape her lips.  “Has he told you as much, or are you merely assuming?”

Emma rolls her eyes.  “Assuming, but I know Killian. I know that he wants me.”

It’s her mother’s turn to roll her eyes, and Emma catches it, but chooses to say nothing.  Is she being too melodramatic? She’s aware of the slight pout of her bottom lip and purses her lips. Sitting in this room next to her mother, Emma is aware of the legacy she will inherit (if she were to measure herself compared to her mother at this age, she things she would come up short).

“Emma dear, why do you think Killian chose to leave the palace?” her mother inquires gently.

The truth, as Regina would say, is a bitch.

“He left because wanted to be alone.”

“I think that he did,” her mother says.  “And I know that bothers you.”

“Why didn’t he wait for me, so that we could talk?” Emma asks, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking as best she can into the rigid cushions.  She doesn’t like feeling helpless where Killian is concerned, and she wonders if her mother understands that.

“Not everyone wants to talk about their problems,” her mother says.  “Everyone has their own way of coping.”

“I know that,” Emma says petulantly, pushing herself further against the cushion.  She doesn’t like this line of questioning - it’s making her squirm, because she can sense her mother tip-toeing towards some truth which Emma isn’t quite sure she wants to face, not yet. 

Her mother stands up, crossing the room to a large table where an extravagant vase of flowers sits.  Behind her is a large portrait, painted shortly after her coronation.  There are other, smaller photographs of the Queen scattered throughout this room, but this is the only painting. In it, her mother is young and dressed in full regalia, her crown perched on top of her head, her hands holding the scepter and the orb.  Emma’s eyes linger, taking in the determined look on her mother’s face, the subtle smile she saves for official portraits which is nothing like the wide smile she saves for her family and friends.

“How do you think Killian is settling in?  I know we’ve talked about it before but I imagine that it’s all been very overwhelming for him wouldn’t you agree?” her mother asks, adjusting some of the greenery in the floral arrangement.  “I know it was for your father when we first became involved, and there were not nearly as many sneaky photographers hiding in the bushes waiting to trap _us_ in a compromising moment.”

Emma takes a deep breath.  “I thought he was doing okay,” she says, her gaze drifting from her mother’s deft hands to the patterns on the carpet - paisleys in blue and green and red and gold. 

She had thought everything was okay.  Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Meeting her, everything with Cassidy, and now his hand…while Emma has struggled to return to what is normal for her, has Killian been able to do the same, living at the palace?  He had been in the US far longer than she had - he had friends and a job and a band and to have to leave everything and come back for her, back to the place full of sad memories, the place he had left in order to start over. 

And then to put his life on the line, and to pay the price with his hand… 

Emma feels helpless.  She has resources - doctors on call, the best physical therapists and surgeons that money can buy, a rent-free place to take the time to recover - and none of that made any difference in the end.

Her eyes find the picture of her mother on her coronation day.  How many times has her mother felt helpless?  How many times has her mother felt this feeling of uneasiness, of knowing that everything she’s done isn’t enough?  Enough for her father, when he was the new prince consort?  Enough for Emma, after everything involving Cassidy?  Enough for Killian, with his hand?

Enough for Eira?

(Will Emma ever learn to stomach it?)

“How do you do it?” she asks, looking away from the carpet and towards her mother.  “How do you learn to feel ok with knowing you can’t always help?”

Her mother’s lips form a sad smile.  “You never learn to feel comfortable - it’s never easy to know you’re not enough.  The lesson you do learn is how to be patient, and understanding.  You can only do so much, but it’s what you choose to do - or not do - that matters the most.”

Emma nods.  She knows that this is another lesson for her future, for when she will be queen, but also for now.

“Fine,” she says with yet another sigh.  “I’ll wait until Killian wants to talk to me about this.  I won’t go running out looking for him.”

Her mother nods.  “Good.” There is a pause, then, “Now, are you still being safe?”

(Emma swears that all of Eira must be able to hear her groan, not just the palace).

 

…

 

Just like he hoped, walking along the river grounds him.

Hands shoved in the pockets of his overcoat, hat pulled down over his head, he walks through the old part of town as he follows the river’s path, across the Reizend Bridge to the city centre.  He lingers by the large fountain, watching the tourists toss coins into it, wishes caught on their lips and stolen by the wind as it rolled off the river.  He sits down at the edge, staring at the glimmering copper and gold and silver that rest along the tiled bottom.

In the pockets of his coat, he squeezes his hands: his right makes a fist again; his left does not quite complete the action.

_This is not what he wanted._

_This is not who he wants to be._

Killian has become all too aware of the fact that he is now in the public eye in one form or another and he does not want to be known as the loser paramour of the Crown Princess.  The tabloids have already splashed his affair with Milah across their covers and have even tried to talk to Robin and Regina to learn more about his exile in the states (he has never been more thankful for Regina’s dragon of a family lawyer who kept them from being dragged in).  He doesn’t care - everything they print about Milah is the truth (he’s fairly sure Jefferson sold him out and he hope that he and Grace are safe now) - but he knows Emma deserves more than a scoundrel like himself.

He also wants to be more than just Emma’s broken boyfriend.  Before today, he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do once he graduated, but he had spoken with David once or twice about the possibility of re-joining the military, of trying to get his dishonorable discharge overturned (a long shot, and he’s not even sure how it would happen despite David’s absolute faith that it could). 

But the military is no longer an option for someone who cannot properly hold a gun and even the sound of gunshots even in a movie makes his heart race -

There is a ringing sound which he recognizes as the bells over Granny’s door, and when he looks up and over, she is standing in front of her shop (he had been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he not noticed where he was).

“You,” Granny shouts, “get in here.”

Killian stands, slipping between the pedestrians as he enters Granny’s shop.  He is assaulted by the smell of pastries and savory breads and the warmth from the ovens in the back and he suddenly realizes how cold it was outside.

“Come,” she says, gesturing for him to follow her to the back of the shop then up the narrow stairs to her quarters.  He passes Ruby in the doorway, who gives me a brief smile and a squeeze of his shoulder before heading downstairs, the back door slamming behind her as she leaves.

“Tea?” Granny asks as Killian takes a seat at her table, memories from not too long ago threatening to overpower him ( _this is where he was last whole_ \- ).

“Yes,” he responds after a moment as Granny raises an eyebrow at him in waiting.  “Thank you.”

Granny fiddles with her tea kettle as Killian’s eyes trace the embroidery on the tablecloth (a little girl with blonde hair, a little boy with brown hair, a big bad wolf, red apples).  He is interrupted when Granny slides a plate with his favorite scones towards him, a small smile on her face.

“Eat,” she practically commands him, and he does.  Soon, she places a mug of tea in front of him and joins him at the table, sipping her own.

He looks up, and out the window.  The sun is setting, and Emma must be back at the palace by now. 

He does not want to go back there, not yet. 

They sit in silence until Granny finally speaks.

“I’m too old to be laboring over a hot oven all day,” she tells him. “I want to enjoy my advanced age.  It’s time for a change.”

The story she tells him is something he has heard bits and pieces of at the palace through Leroy, but hearing it put together is something different: after Cassidy’s failed coup, the identity of the Big Bad Wolf became known throughout the intelligence community.  There had, of course, been talk for years about the leader of the resistance, but no names - at least until now (“Leroy sold me out,” she grumbles, but Killian knows that she is proud of her reputation, and she has every right to be).

“There have been calls,” she says, “inquiries, actually, about my particular skillset.”

“Forming resistance groups?” Killian asks, and Granny frowns at him.

“Not quite.  Handling small-scale logistics and security for private individuals.”  Granny smirks.  “I’ve already been approached by several individuals with considerable assets.”

“How very appropriate,” Killian admits, because it does sound like a skillset that could make Granny some serious money.

“You’re not bad at planning such things,” she tells him, “and you have that fancy college degree.”

“Not yet,” he points out.

“Finish that degree, and I can give you a job,” she says, refilling his tea.  “I want to rest on my laurels.  I want to be secure in my retirement.  Can’t do that without someone like you helping me with this enterprise.”

“But you have Ruby,” he points out, and Granny laughs.

“That girl has a good head in the field, yes, but she doesn’t quite see the big picture like you do.  She’s not a planner - _you_ are.”  There’s that pointed eyebrow raise again, daring him to disagree.

Unable to refute her argument, he changes tactics.  “I have my own plans,” he argues.

“What plans?” she asks, leaning forward on the table, smelling his lie from a mile away: Killian has no plans, not anymore - not since he knocked on Jefferson’s door, not since he let Gold take him.  He has no intentions beyond living day to day, going to classes, finishing the degree but after that?  He can’t play guitar, he can barely eat with both hands, and he is hardly the best candidate to sharpen a pencil let alone plan complex security operations.

When Killian hesitates, Granny clears her throat.

“You have real potential,,” she tells him, firmly but without bite.  “Look at what you did.  Look at how your bravery saved Emma and her family.  You saved Eira.”

“Through foolishness and luck.”

“Some would call it heroic.”

“I’m not whole,” he finally snaps, “I’d be a liability to you, just like I am to Emma,”

Granny just smiles again, softer this time.

“You are as whole as you allow yourself to be.  Do you see me as old?”

Killian shakes his head violently - there was more to Granny than just her age.  “No.”

“Your hand does not define you as much as you think.” 

With this, Granny pushes back from the table.  “Some more tea, yes?” she asks, but she heads towards the kettle without so much as a backward glance towards him.

Killian looks down at this hands, both of which rest on the table.  He opens and closes the left hand, watching the scar from Gold’s bullet ripple across the skin on the back of it.  He will never forget his impulsiveness.  Because of that scar, he will never forget that day.

He’s not sure he wants to, anyway.

Is it possible that he can be more than this?  More than a freeloader at Emma’s parents’ palace? More than an dishonorable veteran, a witness in a royal trial, a lost and broken boy?  When he looks up at Granny, and her wise eyes, he wonders if it’s possible.

He wants it to be possible.

He wants to be more for Emma.  And for himself.

“Tell me more about your idea,” he says.

 

...

 

“Stop worrying,” Regina tells Emma over FaceTime that evening, her small image freezing for a moment just as she turns away from the camera, no doubt talking to someone who has entered the DJ booth.  When she returns, she continues, “Killian is a big boy.  He can take care of himself.  Besides, it’s not like Gold can offer a bounty for Killian or something - didn’t you say that they managed to find all of Gold’s goons?”

Emma sighs, refreshing her Facebook feed on her laptop.  “I know, but I still worry.”

“The hazards of love,” Regina says with a sigh, just as there is a knock on the door of Emma’s bedroom.

“Gotta go,” Emma says, ending the call with Regina before the other girl can say anything else, and closing her laptop.  She hurries across the room, running a hand through her hair before opening the door to find Killian on the other side.

His hands are in his pocket, his cheeks are rosy from the wind, and he looks exhilarated and more than a bit nervous. 

Something has happened.

“Come in,” she says, feeling unsure of herself in light of the conflicting emotions on his face.  “Are you hungry?  Dinner was hours ago but I could send to the kitchens for some food?”

“No - Granny fed me,” he says, running his hands through his hair (her eyes are drawn to the left one, to the angry scar that stands out against his pale skin).

“Granny.”  Emma lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  “Were you at Granny’s the whole time?”

Killian nods.  “She had some things to discuss.”  He looks at her, then, and she’s caught by the intensity of his gaze.  “Emma - we need to talk.”

As she starts to freak out, she remembers an earlier time, an earlier revelation when he told her the truth about himself and she had run away from him as a result.  It was that action, she realizes now in hindsight, that has placed them on the path that they currently are on - that action sent her to Regina’s and brought Killian to find her.  It let Belle weasel her way in and start the chain of events that would bring them back to Eira.  Her actions resulted in Graham’s death, and Killian’s injury.

She’s not going to make the same mistake twice.

Emma steels herself as she walks to the edge of her bed, and takes a seat.  She will listen with an open mind (if she has learned nothing else, it’s that she can’t just act on impulse).

“What do you have to tell me?” Emma asks, trying to stay calm, utterly unsure of the next words that will come from Killian’s mouth.  Her heart hammers in her chest and she almost places a hand to her breastbone, curious to see if she can feel it as strongly on the outside as she does within (she sits on her hand instead, nails digging into her jeans).

“I think it would be best if I move out,” Killian says.  “I think I would like my own place.”

Emma flinches for a moment, then tries to speak but only croaks, “Are you breaking up with -“

“What??  No!” Killian’s eyes are wide and he is at her side in an instant, kneeling on the floor, hands upon her knees.  “No - I just…”

He trails off, shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose between the fingers of his right hand.  “Bugger.  Let me try that again.”  He looks up at her, and then smiles, and she can’t help but mirror it in return.

“I will be forever grateful for what your parents have done for me - for what you have done for me,” he tells her, reaching up to tangle his fingers in her hair, wrapping a curl around his thumb.  “But if I stay here, I’ll always feel a bit tarnished and out of place - like silver plate that needs polishing.”

“But you don’t need polishing,” Emma says, letting go of her leg and reaching up to take his hand in hers.

“That’s the point.” Killian takes a deep breath.  “So, I know, or I think I should know, that I’m fine the way that I am, but I don’t understand how I can be fine with one hand and a dishonorable discharge, not to mention the fact that I’m overstaying my welcome here.”

“You’re not,” Emma begins to protest, but she knows it’s no use.  Once Killian starts down the path of self-loathing, it’s hard to pull him back until he finishes.  Besides, the tabloids have already latched on to the fact that her boyfriend lives at the palace, have already insinuated that the people of Eira are paying for him to live in style ( _not the case, he’s a guest and a hero who thwarted a coup attempt_ ) and Killian has made more than one reference to getting his own apartment in the past few weeks. 

“Maybe not, but I feel like it.  And the thing is, Granny has an idea for a business.  She wants me to help her and...I think I want to try it.” 

Killian takes a deep breath, look away and nods, as if he is coming to some great awareness. When he continues, he seems even more earnest than before. 

“I do - want to try it - to figure out who I am now, and what I can be good at besides owning way too much mope rock and getting myself into trouble.”

“Yeah, I mean, both of those are really valuable skills but neither pay rent,” Emma points out with a smile, and it makes Killian smile as well.

There is an energy in the way that Killian speaks that makes Emma smile.  He’s right - he’s absolutely right.  She hadn’t realized it until now but the Killian that has been living with her at the palace is not the Killian she first met, or fell in love with (she loves this Killian still, but there’s been something hanging over him since Gold).  For the first time in a long time, the man before her reminds her of the man she met in America, who she ran from and who she couldn’t give up no matter how hard she tried to push him away.

She missed that Killian, and she’s glad he is coming back to her.  Emma places her hands on either side of Killian’s face, strokes her thumbs across his cheekbones.

“That’s fine,” she tells him.  “I’m okay with that.  I want you to be happy." 

“Emma.”  He leans forward and places his lips to hers, softly and then with more force until she is on her back on the bed, one of his hands on her hip, the other still tangled in her hair.  They kiss like this for some time and despite its origins, there is something tender to this, the way that their mouths move together, the gentle pressure from their hands as they pull each other closer until there is no space between.

“Emma,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and she wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him back towards her.

There is a knock at the door, and Killian is off her immediately, standing up across the room, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.  Emma take a moment to close her eyes and collect herself before walking to the door.

“Yes?” she asks, not opening it. 

“Emma, have you heard that Killian has returned?” her father asks, and she casts a glance over to Killian, who is red with embarrassment all the way to the tips of his ears.

Emma laughs.  _This is my life_ , she thinks, watching as her boyfriend shifts uncomfortably the longer her father stands outside the door.  _This is my life, and I am happy, and I will do what I can to make sure Killian is as well._

“Yes, I did,” she says.  “Goodnight, Father." 

There is awkward silence on the other side of the door, a “Goodnight, Emma” followed after a pause by a quieter “Goodnight, Killian” and then her father’s footsteps retreating down the hall.  As soon as he is gone, she turns around and places her back against the door.  

Emma smiles at Killian.  “How soon did you want to get a place of your own?  Would tomorrow be too early to start looking?”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t the first time that your father has arrived at the wrong moment,” he tells her, closing the distance between them and sliding his arms around her.  “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

Emma presses a kiss to his cheek and then steps away.  “Let’s start looking, then!” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards her laptop.  “Preferably some place close, with security - “

“And some privacy,” she hears him mutter under his breath but says nothing in reply as she opens her laptop.  Killian sits down on the chair and she sits on his lap, his chin on her shoulder as she opens up her browser.  His warm breath tickles her skin, his arms are solid around her, and as he murmurs directions into her ear, she can’t help but grin. 

_This is my life, and I am happy._

 

 

_…_

_  
_ The knock is quiet: three light raps on the door, and she hopes Granny can hear it, as quiet as she is so late at night.  The door swings open almost immediately ( _of course it does - Granny’s hearing is practically supernatural -_ )

“You’re late,” she grumbles, but she does it more for the sake of ritual than anything else.

“Apologies,” Mary-Margaret says, walking inside.  “Affairs of state take time.”

Granny says nothing, merely starts up the back stairs, leaving Mary-Margaret to follow her.  She does so slowly, closing the door and unwrapping the scarf around her neck as she goes.  It is cold outside, and she is grateful for the warmth of Granny’s upper room, the smell of hot chocolate filling the small kitchen. 

As Mary-Margaret approaches the nearest chair, she looks down at the mug and smiles.

“Cinnamon,” she says with a smile.  “You remembered.”

She expects a witty retort from Granny, but gets nothing.  Granny lowers herself into the chair across from her, and slides a plate of miniature chocolate croissants across the table.  Mary-Margaret selects one, then takes a bite.  It is pure heaven.  She finishes the morsel in two more bites before rubbing her fingers together.

  
This is not entirely a social visit, though Mary-Margaret has been known to make them in the past.  Her friendship with Granny is one of the longest relationships she has had in her life, and one of the most important, especially with her mother dying so young.  She has never asked Granny for anything before, but things are not as they used to be.  There has been treason, and a resistance movement - both right under her nose! - and her daughter’s _boyfriend_ now living in her palace and -

She reaches for her hot chocolate, takes a sip.

“I heard you spoke to Killian today,” she says finally, and Granny nods.

“Quite accidentally, I assure you, but we had a long chat.” 

“And is he going to do it?” Mary-Margaret asks, taking another sip of chocolate.

Granny nods her head slowly.  “I think so.  Only time will tell.”

Mary-Margaret nods.

It was her idea to have Granny offer Killian a job, just as it was she who urged Granny to look beyond the bakery, to do something else with her life, something she clearly wanted to do.  It didn’t take much - a few words over tea and scones, a few hints that Killian needed a purpose, and how he had an innate cleverness and attention to detail that would be oh-so-useful to someone like Granny.

As they say in America, this isn’t her first rodeo: she has seen the way that being the consort of the Crown Princess changes a man.  She remembers the early days of her marriage, when she was still Crown Princess, when she did not have much responsibility, and how David still struggled with the burden of her title.  She remembers the tension between them - leaving a promising military career, coming here and being military in name only, all for the sake of love.

She can only imagine it is far worse for Killian, leaving his new home and coming here and still having years before he becomes consort (she knows her daughter, she knows true love when she sees it and while she would have preferred someone more polished, no one will love her daughter as fiercely as Killian does), and the media is much more omnipresent and intrusive now than when she was young.  Finding a way to give him independence, an income, and a purpose now will make everything that happens down the line much easier.

“You’re meddling, you know,” Granny points out, and Mary-Margaret shrugs.

“I’m a mother, and I just want my family to be happy,” she admits.  “I do not apologize for sticking my nose in the affairs of others when I know my instincts are right.”

Granny looks at Mary-Margaret over the top of her glasses.  “My lips are sealed, your majesty.”

Mary-Margaret smiles.  “They better be, or what kind of intelligence expert are you?”

The two women laugh, both reaching for more of the small pastries in the center of the table.  The fire burns low in the small wood stove in the corner, and warmth settles into Mary-Margaret’s bones.

She made the right call - she knows it. 

She just wants her family to be happy, and for better or worse, Killian is now a part of it.  

She made the right call.


End file.
